The Blue Rose
by kellythegreat
Summary: Alternate universe. Hundreds of years later, the Earth Kingdom, now called the Union, dominates the world; to discover the truth behind his name and escape the forces of the Union, Zuko flees to a land known as Acchai. Zutara, Maiko, Sukka, Taang, Jetzula
1. Love and Hate

**The Blue Rose**

I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender

I do not own "The Black Rose" by Thomas B. Costain

* * *

He hated it when it rained.

But then again, he supposed the world didn't really revolve around what _he _wanted. If it did, he probably wouldn't be in this position, wouldn't be standing beneath this single lamp on the side of this muddy road in the middle of a storm-ridden night and waiting for a woman who didn't love him. Maybe he wouldn't have taken Azula's word that she was coming on this miserable night; maybe he would've scoffed and lit his hand to flame and burned the letter right then and there. Maybe he would be back in the barroom, drinking his fill with the other outcasts and waiting for a barfight with some earthbender soldier. Hell, that's what all the others were doing. Well, Jet would be looking for the barfight. SmellerBee would be arguing with Longshot again, who would respond with that silence in his eyes; _were you hitting on that waitress? I know you were! Am I not good enough for you anymore? I grew my hair out for you, I stopped knife-fighting, I learned how to cook, for Christ's sake - don't look at me like that, Longshot!_

He pulled his dark, discolored cloak up around his shoulders and peered off down the road, waiting in growing earnest for the grunt of a rhino, or the click of an ostrich-horse, or the whirling, annoying thunder of some mechanical escort – anything to signal that she was here, that she was coming, that Azula's letter hadn't been some cruel lie. Annoyed at the growing chill in his drenched bones he lit a small flame within his palm and huddled around it, shivering, still staring out into the dark.

He was a firebender. A firebender. What did that mean? It meant he was second-rate, second-class, a mediocre citizen of the Union who would never be permitted in a court or noble hall. It meant he had to spend his days hearing lectures from Hindu philosophers, taking notes from dusty old history books, attending the Academy run by all those old idiots who could barely read over the table.

His uncle had paid for it all. An education, he told him. Go to school, learn history, politics, economics, swordplay – it will give you a better start on life. I know you want to learn firebending – yes, I'll teach you – but don't do it in public, you know how those nobles can get. Concentrate on your studies, Zuko, and one day you may receive the Agni with pride…

The Agni. His inheritance. The so-called kingdom of wealth his father owned, the secret lands and deeds and great chests of gold. The fabulous wonders the Fire Lord had possessed – that legendary character, that great-great-great whatever of Zuko's, the man they stamped out in all the Earth Kingdom history books and argued never existed.

His uncle had told him about the Fire Lord. How once, long ago, there was no Union beneath the Chosen King. There had been nations, he said. Temples on the tops of mountains, where airbender monks spoke with the spirits and rode the clouds like eagles; impenetrable walls of stone and curling, beautiful monuments raised up by armies of earthbenders; caverns of ice, where waterbenders sang with such unearthly voices that the sky cried from its sweetness; and firebenders, brave and strong, dancing in the shadows of smoking volcanoes and spinning great pillars of flame.

_At one time, the Fire Nation ruled the world, you know. It was terrible for the other nations; the armies were ruthless, and the Fire Lord too strong. The Avatar stopped them. Gave his life for it, even. Wanted peace, they told me. But the Earth Kingdom – the Earth Kingdom…vengeance, Zuko, is a terrible thing, a terrible, terrible thing…_

Maybe that's why the earthbender spat at Zuko's feet when he walked by into the bar, seeing him huddled around his own flame. Zuko ignored him, but realizing how very obvious his parentage was he doused the flame between his fingers and, instead, blew hot breathe against his palms.

He didn't care about the Agni. Azula could have it – could have all the trinkets and coins and stupid treasures that his father had horded. His father hadn't spoken to him in five years; five long years, after he had defied his lunatic idea to fuel an army against the Chosen King. Zuko knew that Ozai had gone mad; all he spoke of was old stories of the Fire Nation, old legends, glory days and great battles and triumph. But the coldness he was treated with now still hurt, and though his uncle tried to persuade his father to give up the vow of silence he would not. Refuse to speak to his own bastard son of Agni.

Something clicked gently down the road and Zuko froze beneath the lamp light. Had Azula told the truth? Was she really coming? His musings over the Agni fell away and looked out into the darkness, blindly hopeful.

She was riding an ostrich-horse; a fair, dark-feathered creature with rather temperamental eyes. Her escort consisted of several earthbenders, mounted on like steeds, and a pair or rhino-riders. A carriage was coming behind her that, no doubt, carried her wordless, conceited parents within its gold-trimmed sides and was so dry inside that the red velvet would not have a spot on it. Zuko swallowed and watch her come, half-shadowed by her cloak, her dark hair hanging down across her breast.

One of the earthbenders suddenly raised his hand and the whole procession came to a halt. He pulled a great, soaked paper from his parcels and looked over it, trying to shield it from the rain but failing miserably. For a few moments he studied it, looked around without success, and then finally folded it back up into his pocket. Zuko's heart went racing as the man spotted him and sloshed over to him through the mud, obviously irritated.

"You there! How do we get to the Niraj estate from here?"

Zuko's chest tightened. It _was _her. She was the heiress of the Niraj, she was the daughter of the Lordship, she was the one who's head was turning towards him and looking at him with that bueatiful, yet inexplicably indifferent glance.

"Zuko? Zuko of Agni?" the usual tone of sarcasm entered her voice and her calm, careless eyes rose a little beneath a mocking smile. "Go inside and ask the barman, soldier. I want to speak to this man."

Quickly and obediently, the earthbender removed himself from their presence and disappeared into the bar. Zuko waited in unbearable suspense as her pale, soft features became visible beneath the lamp light; black eyes, white skin, black hair – it was an alluring contrast obstructed only by the delicate curve of her full, pink lips, a sight that made Zuko's mouth go dry. Unable to think of anything to say, he watched her ghostly beauty as she approached, never dismounting from the ostrich-horse, her gaze soft but unreadable.

"You're soaked," she said suddenly. "You should be at the Academy, shouldn't you?"

"I received news you were riding through tonight," said Zuko quickly, before he could stop himself. "I…I wanted to see if you were well."

"So you waited in the rain for me?" there was a selfishly pleased tone in her voice that, had it been from anyone other than her, would have sent Zuko raging. But all she had to do was flip a few stray locks of dark, endless hair from her face to make him forgive her. "How flattering. You're loyalty is as unchanging as you are, Sahadev Zuko."

It was a coupled insult and compliment; this was the confusing skill she had that made Zuko despise her and want her all in one moment. Sahadev was great praise; but the note on his loyalty was a degrading reminder that he had spent the last four years hopelessly obsessed over her and rotting away at that damned Academy. He was unable to respond and stood, quite idiotically still, for a few moments, continuing to get drenched. She was smiling down at him in her hypnotizing, superior way, and made it his head dizzy.

"How is your father?" asked Zuko suddenly, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself. Her miniscule smile fell and she turned away.

"As unpleasant and irritable as ever. He refuses to leave his carriage until we reach Niraj."

"He is ill?"

"Ill with his own pettiness, perhaps. He does not wish to be at the mercy of your kind; he says he cannot trust the citizens. He has come to think he is the king himself, you know."

If she had been the type to laugh, he knew she would have at this moment. He said nothing; the joke inspired no mirth in him, since it was overshadowed by the two words she had, once again, so slyly slipped into her sentence: _your kind_. The reminder that he was unsuited to love her, the heiress of Niraj. He was Zuko, who's father would not speak to him, who's mother was out of her mind, who's parentage was questioned at every turn. He was the dirt beneath her feet.

"You should go back inside, Zuko. You look half-frozen."

At this point the earthbender had come back out with a few scribbled lines over his map and a ready stride. He signaled to her that he knew the way back and she nodded in a gracious fashion that gave Zuko a small glimpse of her pale, beautiful neck beneath her cloak. Trying to stand up straight and look more noble than he felt, he bowed to her, his boots all coated in mud.

"Have a safe journey. I hope to see you again soon, Mai of Niraj."

"Perhaps. But I do hope that scar looks less appalling the next time. Farewell, my Sahadev Zuko."

Then the procession pulled out, clopped by, and vanished into the night, leaving Zuko beneath the porch light in a dazed wonder of hating and loving the woman who had just ridden by.


	2. Bar Fight

**There is much cursing and sexual inuendos in this one. Please don't read if you're sensitive!**

* * *

"How's the ale, Agni?" 

"Horrible. Did you make it yourself?"

The bartender laughed, slapping his hand on his thigh as he leaned on the counter, his pudgy, reddened face all full of laughter. The clock was striking two in the morning.

"Yeah, and I pissed in it too. Give's it zest."

Zuko snorted into the drink, knowing he was joking but also wary – mostly because the ale actually _did_ seem especially bad tonight. Behind them, the bar was full of disheveled students and locals strewn out across a series of ill-constructed chairs and tables. A group of moderately-sized men were playing cards between their ale mugs and cursing every now and then when they lost an exceptionally big pot. Their game would go on into the early morning, Zuko knew, and not a one of them would win anymore that he had brought at the beginning.

Smellerbee, her face still streaked with red (she kept it that way because Longshot liked how exotic it looked) was walking past a table full of drunks, who cat-called and tried to grab her ass as she went by. She dodged them expertly, her hand clenched around a platter full of empty cups, and had she a knife, Zuko was certain she would have slit a few of their throats. Instead she shook her fist at them as they continued their drunken hoots and obscene gestures, so that when she walked up beside Zuko she was lost in a righteous fury.

"Bastards," she roared, slamming the platter down on the bar beside Zuko and accidentally cracking a few mugs. Longshot, who had been sitting quietly beside Zuko with his lips around his own cup, instantly put down the ale and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, which looked much more appealing within her loose-fitting tunic. She ignored him.

"Bastard newcomers. Could teach them some real respect if I had my knives…but no, you had to take them away from me! How am I gonna defend myself now? What will I do if you're not around, huh? Fucking bastards…"

"You kill anyone, and you're fired," said the bartender lowly, just as Jet – chewing on another twig, since his belly was more than often empty and he had to compensate – walked up. He caught the bartender's words and looked at SmellerBee, who was still steaming within Longshot's arms.

"You kidding?" he laughed, easily taking the stool on the other side of Zuko. "Anyone who makes a pass at you is just new. We all know you're Longshot's girl. Anyone who doesn't is a fucking retard, not a bastard."

Smellerbee scoffed at Jet's words and turned back to Longshot. Gently, slyly, she rested his head against his shoulder and started to play with hair.

"If they say anything else to me, will you shoot them full of arrows?"

Longshot just smiled and kissed her.

"Hey, Zuko," said Jet, turning away from the pair as the conversation turned romantic. "You heard there's gonna be a fight tonight?"

"There's a fight every night, Jet," smiled Zuko, twirling the mug in his hands. His eyes were misted and covered with a far gone sort of look that Jet immediately noticed. "Just not always here."

"Yeah, but tonight it's a big one, and – hey, how are you doing? You don't look good."

Zuko didn't feel good either, but he didn't say that out loud.

"I'm alright. Was out in the rain for a little while."

"Oh," said Jet shortly. A tense sort of silence fell between them. "So…did she come?"

Zuko's fingers slid along the glass of the mug in a sweeping, distracted way. The smoothness of it was almost as smooth as he imagined her skin would be, as cool as her body would feel against the inner heat of his own. He imagined how strange her fingers would look entwined in his hair, wondered if her face would flush or just remain as pale as ever, as white as some phantom queen.

"Yeah," he said, before snatching up the glass and taking one long, desperate gulp.

Jet nodded knowingly and turned away in respect, silently grabbing away a half-drunk mug that belonged to the now passed-out man on the floor. In one swift motion he swallowed the whole half-pint and slammed it down on the bar, sending miniature showers of ale over the counter.

"Well then, you'll need this fight," smiled Jet, white teeth flashing beneath his tanned skin. His dark hair flew across his eyes as he clapped the firebender on the back. "Get some of it off your chest. Bunch of soldiers decided to raise the dorm tax, you know."

"Fuck, what?" roared Zuko, glaring at Jet with both eyes, his scar screaming red in the torch light. SmellerBee and Longshot looked up at his fearsome words just as he dropped the mug on the counter. Jet nodded coolly and continued to chew his twig.

"Yeah. Bastards decided they needed to buy themselves a few more houses. Didn't get a permit or nothing; just started taking things. Students gonna raise hell tonight. Some of the locals want to help too."

Longshot looked at SmellerBee when he said this, her face all lighted in a hopeful, innocent way. _She_ was a local – but more than that, she was an experienced fighter – but even _more_ than that, she was SmellerBee. Her arms were still wrapped around him and her mouth was curved into a huge, ear-to-ear smile. Longshot stared at her and frowned.

"Please, baby, please?" she begged insistently when she saw the defiant look in his face. "Its just one fight – one fight! And its for a good cause, you heard Jet! You can be with me the whole time if you want…please? Baby?"

Longshot rolled his eyes and cast an annoyed glare at Jet, who shrugged nonchalantly. Berated by SmellerBee's pleas and unable to get Zuko's attention (he was cursing beneath his breathe and hastily putting payment on the counter) he found himself at difficult odds. Silently cursing he cast a single glance at SmellerBee and then waved for another ale.

"Aw! Thank you Longshot, thank you baby – " she danced around him and gave him a big hearty kiss, just as a few drunk men turned to watch her. Seeing her turn bubbly and giggly made them commence their cat-calling again and Longshot, hearing them, ground his teeth and stood up, his eyes on fire. Zuko, having now paid for his drinks, was swiftly grabbed by Jet and pulled out the front door as Longshot drew his bow and fitted and arrow.

The rain had finally stopped, but the stale, wet smell of acres of soaking land was hanging in the air like a nauseous perfume. Jet pulled on his cloak as a dim roar went up inside the bar and Zuko shuddered, adjusting the belt of the twin swords across his chest. The commotion within the bar swelled until it was obvious Longshot had agreed to SmellerBee's request, and when the remaining drunks finally tailed it out of there, Jet and Zuko were there to meet them.

There were only three, and they were already slipping in the mud and none too difficult to take down. Zuko struck one across his scalp and caught the other in the stomach with the hilt of his blade; Jet took the third down with a powerful fist to the jaw. One of them struggled to get up, his face all slashed with grime, but Longshot was out the door by now and the sight of him, silhouetted by the red light, must have been so terrifying it rendered him immobile.

So the three remaining drunks stared up at Longshot from the mud, horrified, as Longshot exchanged glances with Jet. Then, without warning, the two men kicked the drunks to their feet and half-chased them from the bar, hollering deafeningly. Shamed and drunk and confused, the men half ran, half stumbled away as Longshot began to pull back the string on his bow. Jet adjusted the twig in his mouth and watched them go with calm ease.

"Fifty yards. I bet ten silver its in the back."

Zuko glanced at Longshot, who's hand was poised on the string and waiting for the men to reach the distance assigned by Jet. Zuko studied the look on his face and the turned back to watch the fleeing men, his hand still resting on his sword hilt.

"Twenty silver says he gets it in the ass."

"Ha!" Jet laughed at the prospect. "Fuck, ok. That's worth taking."

So when the three men reached the fifty-yard point from the bar, slowing down now that the three men were dark and small behind them, Longshot let the arrow fly.

A second later the rear man yelled, tripped, and fell forwards into the mud with an arrow sticking up from his left buttocks. Jet reeled back laughing and Longshot, finished with his duties to SmellerBee, went back inside to get his reward.

"Alright, Agni, you win," said Jet reluctantly. "But I don't have twenty silver. I'll steal some off a soldier for you tonight, ok?"

"You and your fights," laughed Zuko. He looked up at the sky and wondered, vaguely, what time it was now. "When is it, anyways?"

Suddenly there was a great explosion of flame down the street and a soldier's tower, climbing high into the night among the bars and shops and dorms and lecture buildings, burst into a pillar of flame. From somewhere down the street, women were screaming, and there was the dim, distant sound of earth moving in an unnatural way. Jet laughed out loud, drew his blades, and ran off towards it as men poured out the bar.

"When else, Agni?"


	3. Truth?

Zuko was not new to fights. The half-town, half-campus encompassing the twenty mile radius beside Niraj was littered with so many differing classes of men and blushing women that fights were absolutely inevitable. That was why they called it _Balda Harām_: the City of Villians.

For four years he had learned to fight his way through anything: disagreements over card games, dealings of honor – who would be the first to speak to the new girl in the back of the bar. At school he was taught what the professors called, 'gentlemanly' swordplay; in the street, he was taught what Jet called, _real _swordplay. There was, really, only one main difference between the two; in one, you used only the blade – in the other, you used everything. Feet, fists, knees, elbows, bottles, rocks, slabs of wood – anything that made sure you weren't the one getting crushed beneath some earthbender's stone.

Of course, they weren't _supposed_ to be fighting. The earthbender's were the elite; they were untouchable. It was strictly against the law to even _think _about fighting them.

So Zuko didn't think about it. He grabbed the damn bastard by the back of his head and sent a big old smoking fist flying into his face without thinking at all.

The street was a local one, which meant it was twice as muddier than anywhere else in the city and bordered by any manner of shop, apartment, or illegal housing. Ground floors were gateways to forges, where unemployed smithies waited for customers in need of blades or armor; strings were tied between houses and laundry was wheel out to dry in the open air. Stands stood out there in the morning; carts laden with cabbages and carrots, platters of fresh breads and biscuits, full chickens hanging by their naked legs sold at three copper pieces each. Steam rose from chimney like banners, since _Balda Harām_ itself had no creed, they were used in place of a flag. But the lack of a city banner was not important at that moment to the soldier's who neck had just been rent open by a carving knife.

SmellerBee had joined the fray, hooting and hollering with relief and flashing her knives like a whirlwind of lightning. She hadn't been in a fight in months, and Zuko had paced a good ways away from her, knowing full well how wild she could become. She was like a caged lion unleashed among dumb deer; the rows of earthbenders faced her in their stupid lines of eight, and while they fussed over raising up the ground she flashed by, undetectable, save for the streak of blood that followed her knife. Longshot was following close behind her, his arrows all spent but his fist still clenched around the bow, which he was using to knock away poorly thrown stones that some unskilled recruits were bending towards him. The two of them made a good pair, for while Longshot was busy deflecting blows, SmellerBee was disappearing and reappearing between soldiers, confusing all hell out the earthbender's and making them turn on each other when they felt the prick of her blade in their sides.

And then there was Jet. Jet was having the time of his life. He was a ghost, an invisible nightmare that wove so fluidly between his enemies that they killed each other in the process of trying to kill him. For all their high-paying lessons and nobility and years of training, they had no idea how to cope with one laughing youth swinging around on twin tiger-hooks. They tried to dodge after him and he tripped them; they tried to cut his throat and he cut theirs; they tried to crush him with a few rocks and he jumped over them, landing full on their helmets and smashing their faces into the dirt.

It was hilarious to watch, actually, these young students spinning circles around these buff, middle-aged benders; and even Zuko had to crack a smile while he dove beneath a boulder and cut his antagonist's belt clean through, so that even as the earthbender stood in his stance, his pants fell down to his ankles and revealed his unspeakables to the world.

Jet roared into laughter as the soldier struggled to pull up his pants, but the victory was cut short when a loud, unpleasant rumble filled the earth and the ground began to shake. The aura of the street, which had before been a messy quarrel of mud-covered students and earthbenders fighting like schoolyard boys in a scrap, suddenly turned serious. Jet looked up at Zuko, flashed him a quick message with his eyes, and then turned to find SmellerBee and Longshot. Zuko, knowing Jet's mind almost as well as his own, turned back and began calling the other men to follow him to the bar. Beneath his feet, pebbles were beginning to dance.

They were not retreating; they were strategizing. Similar earthquakes had happened before – Zuko had been around for about…three, was it? They were forebodings – rumors that the main force knew the recruits had failed, and were sending in their _real _men, their real earthbenders. The recruits were easy, laughable, inexperienced; but the main soldiers were deadly in their aim, and the only way Jet and Zuko knew how to defeat them was through stealth, cunning, and lots of strong ale.

But when Zuko entered the building he was suddenly onset by the gleam of foreign eyes and he feared, for one dreadful moment, that the earthbenders had taken the bar. Swallowed in darkness with one hand still clenched around his blade, he lashed out with his free arm, his fingers blazing, his eyes all full of fire. And with a quiet whisper of wind, his blow was deflected.

There was a boy standing there, not a soldier, but Zuko had just blinded himself with his own flame and he couldn't see him properly for a moment. As his vision began to adjust, however, he could focus better and the boy's voice rose above the cries outside.

"Don't worry. I ain't no soldier. You're Zuko of Agni, ain't ya?"

There was something very strange about this fellow, Zuko noted. His clothes, for instance, were very dirty and old-looking; you could hardly see the orange color of his tunic anymore, a very odd color to be wearing in any case, and his feet were bare. Besides that, he was completely bald, though he was obviously younger than Zuko, and there was a great, blue…something or other resting on his bare scalp.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" said Zuko lowly as Jet walked in with Longshot, SmellerBee, and a few other rebels. The boy grinned from ear to ear and shrugged his shoulders.

"You're scar's a dead giveaway. I'm Aang, of Acchai. Why you taking up the fight?"

"So I don't have to pay the tax, of course," he grinned. Jet came over and clapped him on the shoulder as Aang laughed at the firebender's response. Zuko's dark-haired friend looked quizzically at the bald boy, and Zuko – seeing he didn't understand his baldness and dirtiness anymore than he did, and knowing he would make a very rude point about it – rushed to introduce them.

"Jet, this is Aang, of Acchai. Aang, this is Jet of Hu Shin."

Jet cast him a friendly nod and Aang gave a short bow, further revealing the blue (what the hell _was_ it?) on his scalp. Jet's eyes scrunched up and he stood up on his toes, trying to get a clearer picture of his head.

"What the hell's that?" he asked, quite blatantly. Zuko flinched a little, but he was too interested in the question himself to chide Jet for his rudeness. Aang swallowed and averted his gaze.

"A tattoo," he said, and there was a quiet reluctance in his voice. He looked at the ground and shifted his bare feet uncomfortably. "…An airbender tattoo."

Zuko's eyebrows raised and Jet, who's arm was still around the firebender's shoulder, did something he never, _ever _did. He stopped chewing his twig.

A moment of silence followed in which SmellerBee and Longshot caught up with them, the fearsome woman still elated that she had finally participated in a fight and not paying any attention to the strangely-clad newcomer. Longshot was studying the whole scene with a practiced eye that came with his long patience and mute territory. Several straggling students and locals were talking to the barman as, deep down beneath their feet, the ground began to rumble again. The frame on the front door was shaking down years of neglected dust over their brooding heads.

"Fuck, man," spat Jet finally. He still wasn't chewing. "What are you doing here? You got a death wish? Don't you know the Niraj is right over the hill?"

"Yeah, I know," he said, and there was tired note in his voice. "But I can't make 'nough money to get up and go someplace else. Not many people'd hire me for a good payin' job, you see."

"I thought there weren't any airbenders left," said Zuko abruptly. Longshot cast him a very intense glare and the firebender's mouth snapped shut, but the damage was done. After he said it, of course, he realized what a terrible rude thing it was to say; kind of like saying: _Gee, I figured you didn't exist. Oh well._

"Yeah, lot of people been thinkin' tha'," said Aang smoothly, completely unphased by Zuko's words. "Hell, I used ta'. Then one day I'm chased down by some earthbender (don't right remember why; I think it had somethin' to do with a woman) and he throws a block at me, and _bam _–"

He clapped his hands together in a sudden, deafening way and a great gust of wind spewed forth between his fingers, smacking the walls like a hundred iron fists and making a few pitchers clatter from the shelves. Tables flew over and chairs went airborne; the unmarked deck of cards sprinkled up to the roof like backwards rain and Aang, sensing the bartender's eyes on him, swept the ghostly wind back towards him and everything went upright again.

Cards fell down around his shoulders and Jet and Zuko stared, dumbfounded, at his easy smile.

"Yeah, that's kind of the look me mother had," he grinned.

"Jet! Get you're no-good ass over here!"

The bartender was gesturing wildly towards the swordsman, half-in and half-out of the doorway, his great shoulders overshadowing everyone around him. Jet unsheathed his tiger-hooks and practically flew to his side, nodding briefly to the others as he went. SmellerBee whooped and went instantly to his side; Longshot fingered his arrowless bow and followed with less gusto. Zuko was about to join them, one foot stepped forward, blades already half-drawn from the hilt.

But he caught the figure of the boy in the blurred, obscured vision of his left eye and stopped. There was something in the stooped frame of his posture that made Zuko feel somehow akin to him, like he had held that posture before. It was the way he looked when he felt rejected, like an outsider, when everyone looked on him with that blatant, unearned disgust. It was how he felt every time he went to visit his father; that old mumbler who wouldn't look at him, wouldn't speak to him. It was how he felt when Mai rode away on her ostrich-horse, playing him with her cruel, sympathetic, lovely, conceited ways, leading him about like a puppet. It was how he felt when earthbenders spit at his feet, when nobles scoffed his so-called "birth right", when they whispered between themselves how he resembled his uncle so much, the bastard son of Agni…It was that feeling of unfairness, of injustice.

_What makes them so much better than us?_

"You know, I'm a firebender," he said suddenly. Aang had reached for a stool to sit down, feeling he was not wanted in the make-shift student army; now he looked up, wondering what Zuko was getting at. Zuko put his blades back in the sheath and reached out his hand towards him.

"I know what it's like to be treated like shit. I know what it's like to have to lay down at those bastard's feet so you don't get thrown in jail. But for all the time I lived in _Balda Harām_, I learned this: high class and culture isn't what keeps you alive. It's the people you run with."

Aang took his hand off the stool, but did not immediately take Zuko's. He had a very laid-back attitude, that much was certain from the beginning; but he was still wary, still used to getting double-crossed and stabbed in the back and the like, just like everyone else in that forsaken town was. But Zuko kept his hand steady, fixed his gleaming gold eyes on the stranger's gray ones.

"You wanna run with us?"

The corner of his mouth rose up into a slight grin and Aang, sacrificing just one more moment of solitude, laughed and swung out his hand, clapping it into the firebender's own.

"Hell. Why not?"

* * *

"I'll fucking kill you, man. I swear. I fucking will."

Zuko had felt blades pressed against his throat before. Rats at bar fights looking to slice him up for that joke he made; some bastard reeling at an enemy, missing, and ending up on top of him; SmellerBee, when she got drunk and accused him of stealing her imaginary jewels, and Longshot had to carry her up to bed. It wasn't all that foreign to him.

But this time, the blade at his throat was curved at an oddly extreme angle, a half-circle, a hook. And Jet's hand was at the hilt.

"I fucking will. You know I will," the sweat was dripping down across his eyelids, his frame all silhouetted by red fire, the angry voices shouting outside, the rumble of earth as they tried to tear down the walls. It was a portrait so horrifyingly fascinating that all Zuko could do was stare, awed, at the desperate darkness in Jet's gaze.

They had not charged out into the street, or made any valiant, straight-forward attempt to intercept the main earthbender forces. They had crept between the houses, across rooftops, under bridges, through alleys, laying down in the mud with blades drawn and standing on chimneys with loaded bows. So when the soldiers came marching by – eight by eight, always eight to a line, to a row – they could pick off a good number before a huge wall of stone shielded them from their hidden enemies. For awhile, they had held the line, as the flames in the soldier's tower were doused and the remaining guard came to join the fight. And that's when Jet found Zuko, still standing over a fallen soldier, fists smoking.

Aang was with him at the time. Not able to really trust anyone else, the airbender had followed the heir of Agni and ended up watching his back and, miraculously, saving his ass more than a few times. Jet included them both in the plan, but SmellerBee and Longshot where nowhere to be found; an inconvenience, but a minor one. They would probably jump in half-way through anyways.

Jet's plan was simply brilliant. The earthbender forces were preoccupied with a band of rebel students led by the experienced barman, who supported them because his own son was a member of the Academy. While clouds of fire and smoke and dust rose up between the warring factions, Jet dragged Zuko in behind the enemy forces, swift and silent as a winged shadow, his steps taking them down to the half-burned watch tower that had began the whole affair.

Aang had asked asked Zuko in a whisper, '_what a hell's he doin'_?' and Zuko had been unable to answer until Jet, reaching the stairs of the great tower and hearing the battle rage so distantly behind them, explained and executed his perfect plan.

The collected tax – which consisted of money, jewelry, deeds, bank notes, crests, furniture, clothing, and any other material possession that could pass as payment enough – was horded in a twenty-by-twenty dungeon room deep beneath the watch tower/ It was kept there until a collections agency came for the due once every other month. At the moment, it was rumored, it was overflowing with stolen things; overflowing with more than the required amount, a hefty bonus for the thieving bastards soldiers beneath the Chosen King.

"We'll go in while the soldiers are fighting," Jet had whispered to them as they crouched in the shadows beside the front gate. "We'll find our way down – most of the guard is gone, we'll have no trouble getting there – and we'll take as much as we can, and take it back to Vica's place. By the time they realize what happened, we'll be long gone."

"Taking it back right under their noses," Zuko had laughed, nudging Aang in the side, who was smiling and nodding eagerly in agreement. Jet grinned at his plan and Zuko felt an inward swell of pride at the fact they were about to accomplish something no one else had dared to dream – they were going to discredit and embarrass the elite, the soldiers of the Chosen, the greedy mobsters who's theft would be displayed in the open when the residents of _Balda Harām _took their stolen treasures back.

There was no guard at the gate; they had gone to join in the fray, which sounded so lively over the roar of the fire Zuko could almost hear SmellerBee laughing among it. The inner tower had only one way up ad one way down; a spiraling staircase that rose up in the midst of it, tearing through the ceiling and delving into the floor. With Aang and Zuko at his back, Jet drew his swords and disappeared down into the dark stair, fast and fleeting as a shadow. The two other followed, more cautious but just as excited, Zuko's hands on his sword-hilts, Aang's clenched around a bow.

There was only a small door guard to cope with, and it took them under two minutes to have them out cold on the ground. The door itself was locked, but naturally one of the earthbender guards had a key on him, and it was easy enough to get in.

_Surprisingly easy._

That phrase would reverberate in Zuko's head for the next half-hour, as they carted furniture and rolls of scripts and chest of gold up the stairs, a process that was helped along with Aang's masterful airbending skills. Neither boy really wanted to question the boy on where, exactly, he had learned to airbend, since any masters would be arrested or executed for even suggesting teaching an apprentice – but they were too preoccupied with the sounds of battle outside, which were getting steadily louder. It mean,t of course, that the student rebels were winning; but it also meant the soldiers were retreating, back to their tower, where Jet and Zuko were pushing a chest of jewelry up the staircase and out the front gate.

Aang was hooting and hollering, dancing against the brooding background of a smoke-filled sky, when they pulled the chest out to join the other multiple treasures strewn out before the gate.

" 'Magine it, Zuko!" he laughed. " 'Magine how they'll look, standin' there and lookin' in ta see everythin' gone! Think twice 'fore they try an steal from us agin!"

"Not everything's gone, but a good amount," said Jet, wiping his forehead of sweat. "Come on. We have to get this over to Vica's, fast."

* * *

"Don't do this, Jet," hissed Zuko. Jet's blade was still at his throat, the cold metal growing warmer now as it accepted the heat of skin. "Don't do this –"

"Get out, or I'll fucking kill you," said Jet, louder this time. A deafening boom echoed behind them as the earthbender knocked down the whole front wall to the house; Vica, SmellerBee, and Longshot could be heard yelling, trying in vain to drive them off. The gold treasures were strewn out at their feet, dull and worthless in the dim light, their purpose and wealth forgotten in the wake of the defeat that lay outside the door. Aang was to Jet's left, the opposite sword poised at his neck in an identical fashion to Zuko's, his eyes all wide as he listened to the sounds of arrests being made on the other side of the wall.

"Stop being a martyr, Jet, they need us out there –"

With this the firebender took a step to the side, pushing Jet's blade away and trying to step around the swordsman in an attempt to reach the door; but Jet, infuriated, flicked back the hook, spun, slicing a long, shallow line through Zuko's shirt.

The skin tore and Zuko let out a halted breathe of pain. Blood dripped down beneath his shirt, fiery and red just as his hands were, wreathed in living flame; Jet's blade, splattered with identical crimson paint, leveled at his wounded chest. His dark eyes were lost and desperate, and absolutely resolute.

"You're the fucking heir of Agni," he hissed. He body wasn't shaking with fear, or horror, or adrenaline. He was perfectly calm, perfectly controlled; he stood rooted before his friend, his brother, immobile. There was no hint of doubt in his gaze, no misgiving, and the fierceness in his eyes made Zuko afraid in a way he had never been before.

"You know who I am? I'm the son of a miller in Hu Shin. It was either: go the Academy, or take over the business, and you know I'm not gonna grind grain for the rest of my life. I can afford to go to jail, to go on trial. You can't."

"Shut the fuck up, Jet!" roared Zuko, trembling, right hand placed on his sword hilt. He hated all this talk of class, or parentage, of inheritance. "You're the one who fucking told me class didn't matter; that its all a fucking perception. You're the one who said there was no division between us. You're just as fucking important as I am, Jet!"

"No, Zuko," said Jet. His eyes had taken on a gentle look that completely out of character for him. "You're the important one. You're not just a bastard firebender, Zuko. Don't believe what the tell you. You're _him_ – the heir of Agni. You're the one. You're are last hope."

"What the fuck, Jet? Do you even here what you're fucking saying? I'm not anyone's hope – I'm the bastard Zuko. I'm not the Avatar!"

No one would notice the little flinch that went through Aang when he said this; no one would notice the uncertainty in his eyes, the desperate hope that neither man would see his discomfort at these words. No one noticed his hands shake upon his bow.

"No. But you're the heir of Agni, and those stories – those old stories, about the Four Nations…Zuko, they're true. Everyone knows it – even if the Chosen King took it out, covered it up. You're the heir to the whole legacy! You – you can change it. You can find out who you are."

"I know who I am, Jet, I'm –"

"If you fucking open you're mouth again, I'll fucking kill you!" the doorframe was shuddering. A rock covered fist smashed through the frame. Jet's eyes were shaking.

"Go…go to Acchai. Aang, take him to Acchai. Just get out of _Balda Harām_. Get away from Niraj, from the realm of the Chosen King. You have to do this for me, Zuko. I need…I need to believe there's hope out there. I need to believe we won't always have to live in this fucking Union, have to learn textbooks full of lies, have to bow down and kiss the feet of corrupt cowards. I need you to go to Acchai. I need you to find out who you are. The truth about Agni. The truth about…about everything."


	4. Bad News

He wondered, vaguely, what Mai would say when she saw him.

He was standing at the Earth Track station on the outer edge of Niraj, bordering Feng Li. His unmistakably recognizable student clothing had been relinquished for a traveling cloak and a belt with a double-sword sheath, his face hidden beneath his hood and the dark strands of his hair. Aang was waiting for him in the coach with their luggage; two cases, one filled with clothing, and one with whiskey – a generous donation from the barman. The rebel night had passed a week ago, and SmellerBee and Longshot had just gotten out of jail. Almost every participant had been arrested, and the guards on _Balda Harām _had doubled. No one knew what had become of Jet.

So in the station of the Earth Track, running from the law which was putting up his poster everywhere, he waited for Mai. She was passing through to catch the evening train, the one right after Zuko's. They would be off in different directions; her to the King's Realm, he to Acchai, but he needed to speak with her one last time.

She had never particularly shown avid interest in him – at least, not to the extent he had shone it towards her. It was always passive flirting overshadowed by her arrogance, her pure blood over his defiled, her royalty over his peasantry. He had never minded, of course, never cared; he dreamed of her raven locks and pale face, the rare, pink smile, the sole gesture of attraction. He knew he loved her, beyond doubt or question, despite the screaming imperfections in the way she treated him, her superior air. He had known her since he was small, and she had always (at least, as he imagined) been his.

But today was different. Today he was not waiting to give her some small trinket, or to have a few passing words with her, or to tell her of his devotion. Today he was waiting so he could say goodbye.

The conductor was calling for the last tickets now; the train would be heading off soon. Where was she? She always came early, always; it was not like her to be late. Lateness, she had always said, was something common people did, people who slaved in the mud, were too lazy and slow to get anywhere on time. She was pristine, early, spotless. She was perfect.

So when she pulled up on her ostrich-horse, surrounded by the usual caravan of guards, Zuko was not surprised to see her clean, black dress beneath her cloak, the shining, white-gem necklace resting on her sweet-smelling neck. He stepped towards her, unsure if she would recognize him beneath his dark hood and uncut hair, her lips tight and serene, her eyes unreadable.

His chance came when she gestured to the guard to return and gather her luggage (a process, Zuko knew, would take quite a while). Unfaltering, he strode forward as the guard turned to leave, a dark figure among a sea of traveling folk, his scar veiled beneath his hood.

"Mai of Niraj?"

She jumped in her saddle, so startled that a commoner had spoken to her, and the ostrich horse gave an abrupt, irate, bird-ish noise.

"Who are you?" she hissed, clearly ready to snap her fingers and call her guard back, or at least to start screaming for help. Zuko didn't give her the chance.

"It is me. _Sahadev_."

She paused atop the ostrich horse, refusing to get down to his level, as always. Her face turned towards him and the lamp lit upon her: beautiful, white, flawless. _Perfect_. It made Zuko go numb with desire and he had to shake himself to keep his concentration.

"They told me you were in jail," she said indifferently, matter-of-fact. Zuko heard the conductor giving the last call and easily ignored her apathy.

"Mai…I must leave. For a little while. I don't know when I'll be back."

She folded her hands on the reins and said nothing.

"I want you to know…I'll come back for you. I love you, Mai of Niraj."

Silence. It cut Zuko like flaming arrows, hot and searing and sharp. But he couldn't dwell on it; the conductor was distracted by a small family of four, but the train would only be postponed for a few more moments.

"And I need to know," his voice was so low now he wondered if she could even hear him. "…If you'll wait for me."

The earthbender engineers were moving to the back of the train, weaving their way past Zuko and the motionless heiress of Niraj, respectably bowing to Mai as they passed. She did not nod, or show any interest in them, anymore than she was showing interest in Zuko.

"I don't know," it was the first time she had ever sounded indecisive, unsure of herself. The mask of confidence was gone; she was realizing that her adoring suitor was leaving, that her obsessed lover would no longer be around to feign over her. Her dark eyes refused to look at him.

"I don't know, Zuko. I have another suitor, you know. Zhanu, the son of Zhao, you remember? He has come to call on me many times this week."

Zuko's heart gaze a painful lurch, but he did not allow himself to despair.

"Put him off," he urged, demanding words he had never before dared to say to her. "Put him off til I come back. I will come back for you, Mai. Please. Tell me you will wait."

The train was starting to move. Zuko, startled by the sound of moving stone, looked back at Mai, who seemed to be fighting within herself. Rent between her beauty and the worried face of Aang as he began to search for the firebender, he leapt onto the edge of the doorway and began moving away from, hood down and scar shining, hair blowing as the train gathered speed.

"Please, wait for me. Wait for me, Mai."

All the way out of the station, he stared at her from the doorway; and she did not stir, did not move, her eyes fixed on the feathered neck of her ostrich-horse.

* * *

"You wan any dinna'?"

"Nah, Aang. You have it."

Aang shrugged and picked up the platter, crossing his legs on the seat and digging into to mound of beans and rice like a starved wolf. Zuko's head was pressed sideways against the glass, gold eyes gazing out emptily at the flashing scenery, scar dyed orange in the light of the sunset. Aang, pausing with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, looked at him uncertainly.

"You all righ', Zuko?"

Mai had ran one beautiful, white hand over Zuko's heart, kissed it, and then dumped acid on it and cut it into a thousand pieces. Great Agni, how he still loved her. Zuko turned towards the airbender, contemplated the situation for a moment, and smiled.

"Savvy," he said, and Aang grinned with bean mesh in his teeth.

Suddenly the door to their unit slid open and a man – hardly as old as Zuko, but looking very irritated and unhappy – looked in at them. His hair had been shaved on either side, but the locks in the middle were unnaturally long and falling across his eyes in a weary sort way. His clothes were a dull shade of blue, sleeveless, sides all strapped with weapons; but he was rubbing his face with exhaustion and gazing in at them, half awake, blue eyes sagging.

"Excuse me, but does this belong to you?"

He turned around (something, Zuko thought at first, was very odd) and revealed something so odd latched onto his back that for a moment the firebender stared, dumbfounded.

It was a lemur. Its gigantic, leathery, fur-lined ears shot up as the boy turned, his unnaturally wide eyes staring at the two in the unit with brown innocence, it wing-lined arms half flexed as it clutched to the boy's back. It made a purring sort of noise and leapt of into the air just as Aang jumped.

"Momo! You lil' beast –"

And with the two older boys staring incredulously, he embraced the lemur.

"Aang…what –"

Momo leapt towards him, tying to inspect the scar on his eye. Zuko thrashed wildly and pulled away, but Aang was pulled the lemur away before a fire blast went through the room.

"This my pet, Momo," he said, scratching the lemur's head and grinning. "Brought 'im long cause 'ee don't like ta be 'lone. You don' mind, do you?"

"_I _mind," snapped the boy in the doorway, whom Zuko and Aang had completely forgotten about. "That thing flew straight into my unit and wrecked everything – you should keep it on a leash, or something. Now I can't go back to my room until its fixed up."

Aang was hardly listening. He was balancing Momo on top of his arrowed head and having a great deal of fun, regardless of the boy's words. But at his last sentence he seemed to brighten up and turn an insistent face towards him.

"'Ay! If you can't go to your 'oom, you could stay 'ere. Wha's your name?"

The boy raised an eyebrow and chanced a glance at Zuko, who shrugged nonchalantly. Never mind the new stranger; his thoughts were all focused on Mai, on Acchai, on how long before he could return and get back to normality…

"I'm…I'm Sokka. Of the Aurora Tribe Who're you?" but before even Aang could open his mouth, another man stopped by the doorway. He was carrying a large, bulging bag over his shoulder and wearing a traditional Earth Kingdom helmet.

"Li? Li!" he called into the units, so loud that people down the aisle looked out their doors in annoyance and curiousity. "Li! Letter for Li from Mushi! Mushy? Letter for Li!"

Zuko leapt from his seat, almost tripping in his haste and nearly bowling over Sokka in his mad rush to reach the soldier. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and the messenger turned, bewildered and off guard, and the train rumbled briefly with his earthbending.

"I'm…I'm Li," Zuko tried to say evenly. The man hesitated, looked him up and down, and then shrugged, handing him a small yellow envelope with the Agni fire seal. Zuko handed him a single coin (he had very limited funds, so the man would have to deal with a small tip) and went swiftly back into the unit, shutting the three men inside.

"Ok, I don't know who you people are, but can someone please tell me why scar-face just tried to tackle me?" his tone would get very annoying, Zuko noted. Aang was looking at Zuko quizzically.

"You're name ain't Li," he said simply as Momo jumped onto the seat beside him and lay down.

"It's a false name," said Zuko plainly. "I used to use it with…" he trailed off.

Sokka, still standing in front of the doorway, shifted his feet uncertainly and made a move to leave. Aang, realizing his new guest was about to depart, hastily made an attempt to keep him in the room.

"Sorry for th' delay, Sokka, I'm Aang," he said, airbending up out of his seat and extending his hand to Sokka. The boy took it with a raised eyebrow, but smiled softly in the end.

"Airbending. Cool. Haven't seen that before," he said. Aang grinned again and extended a hand towards the heir of Agni, who had ripped open the seal and was drinking in the contents of the letter.

"This be Zuko, of Agni. We – Zuko?"

He was frozen to the seat, paralyzed, the only motion in his form the gentle trembling of his hands as his fingers struggled to keep hold of the worn paper. The ink had stained his thumb from where he smudged a word; ink as black as his hair, as black as the sky was getting outside where the sun had fallen. His eyes were moving in the same pattern, up and down, up and down, as he read the characters. Aang, lowering his hand and looking severely concerned, stepped towards him.

"Zuko?"

"Its my Uncle," he was saying it from a distance, from a million miles away in a mute reality where words didn't register. "My…my mother's dead."


	5. Jump

_Dear Li,_

_I hope all is well with you're travels! Are you comfortable? The weather back home is a bit stormy, but it'll pass soon enough, I hope. Everything has been going fine here. Unfortunately, I don't suppose the garden will last; there's buzzards picking at it, and no matter what I try they won't leave it be. I saved the best tea leaf though – they won't get their grimy beaks in my jasmine! The other birds, however, are terrified of them; they tried to fly to the south garden to escape, but the buzzards pursued them. I had to chase the poor things further away just to save them! But buzzards usually do not stick around once they have had their fill, so we all hope they'll be leaving soon._

_I know you hate when I ramble on about my garden and my tea, but you know it is my passion. However, I'm delighted to say you're father is doing quite well, though a little upset – you remember his favorite painting, the one hanging in his room? It fell down the other night. It was entirely crushed, beyond repair. It pained the whole household, but you're father most of all; he loved that painting, remember? It was both you're favorites, I believe…and mine as well. I have left a bit of it in the package for you, something you're mother deemed you to have if it ever was to be destroyed. We were all great lovers of art, your parents and I; I think she hoped to pass it on to you._

_I am sorry to cut the letter short, but there are visitors at the bell to see about the broken painting. They are going to burn it today. I hope you return from you're trip soon, but hopefully not while the buzzards are here. They are ugly things, and I would not wish you to see them in my delightful garden. Carry on with your studies and be strong, my nephew._

_You're loving Uncle,_

_Mushi_

"This letter don' talk bout you're mum a'tall," exclaimed Aang, looking up from the half-smudged paper. "This is jus' a ramble bout you're n'uncle's gard'n –"

"Aang," Zuko's tone was abrupt, severe, impatient. "Can we talk about this later?"

He was looking, straight and true at Sokka, who was standing quietly in the doorway and observing them both with a confused, but watchful eye. The lowered gaze of Zuko's half-scarred face had suddenly become tense and unfriendly; the presence of the stranger during the conversation was obviously bothering him. Fugitive or not, he did not approve of others meddling in his life – Aang was the only new friend, in fact, he had had in years. But Aang was too young and naive to think Sokka could possibly report them to someone – which astounded Zuko, mainly because the airbender must have been persecuted most of his life. Then again, the man had returned his lemur, so a blind level of trust was there to begin with. But Zuko knew better, and right as Sokka began to lean over Aang's shoulder to read the letter, he snatched it back, half-crumpling it in his haste.

"You'll need to get back to your compartment soon, I'd guess," he snarled, and his tone had lost all politeness. Sokka's gaze glanced down at the crushed paper in his hands, then back up to his scarred face. He didn't move.

"You're running from the Union."

A terrible knot formed in Zuko's throat and stayed there, heavy and sickening. For one crucial moment neither man moved; Aang opened his mouth to say something, but the stifling tension in the room seemed to mute him. Zuko's pale hand was quivering gently, mind racing on how fast he could draw his blades, or send a torrent of fire from his fist; but he could not guess how quickly Sokka would draw his club, or duck beneath the flame and send his bladed boomerang into his neck…

"…I'm not going to report you."

His words didn't break the tension, but stretched it, unbearably thin. Still, Zuko wouldn't move. They were watching each other with paranoid precaution, unmoving as stone, waiting, two wolves poised before the first valiant leap was made into the fight, teeth like iron traps, rent skin, desperation, survival, rivers and fountains of blood. It was enough to make both men uneasy within the waiting, trying to calculate how they would avoid the other, attack the other, kill the other if need be…

"Who sent you?" the idea had occurred to Zuko suddenly, blindly. "Are you with the Dai Li? The recruits? You won't take me. I won't submit."

"I'm not with the Union," said Sokka quietly, and Zuko saw his shoulders droop just a little. "Here…I will show you this –"

He turned his eyes away for a moment, reached back into the small bag hung beside the club-hilt at his waist, let his guard down, gave the opposing wolf a clear shot for his white, unprotected throat.

Zuko slammed him so hard into the wall that he didn't have a chance to scream, the breathe flying from him like a deathly gale, lungs emptied. He coughed harshly, wheezed for breathe, powerless in the firebender's grip; Zuko's hand clenched beside his throat and a red flame wrapped around it like a scarlet ribbon, living, hot and fierce. The light from it was pouring out into the hallway, a red glow that contradicted the green floors of the train car.

A passing earthbender saw it. Noticed it.

"You really think I'd fall for that," Zuko was hissing, spitefully, into Sokka's face. "You earthbender recruits just keep getting dumber, don't you? Are you from the King's Force? The Dai Li? How long have you been following me?"

Sokka wheezed again, tried to say something and couldn't, as it only came out as half-spoken vowels and strained breathe. Zuko's very eyes were flaming, fist beginning to press closer to the intruder's neck, flame striving to tear at the unprotected flesh as Sokka struggled from the unbearable heat.

Then a ferocious gust of wind swept over Zuko's hand, put out the deadly flame; and before Zuko could turn to yell at Aang, the gust turned, hit him full in the stomach, and rocketed him against the other wall of the compartment.

A hollow _boom _shuddered through the cabin at his impact. The earthbender in the hall started, and broke into a run towards the room, hailing down the hall for help.

"What a hell, Zuko?" Aang was hissing, as Sokka massaged his bruised throat and drank in long, desperate dregs of air. "He ain't done nothin'. Leave 'im 'lone –"

"You fucking idiot," Sokka suddenly wheezed out, much to Zuko's increasing rage. He lifted himself up off the floor, where gravity had claimed him once Zuko had released his hold, still with a hand at his throat. His blue eyes, however, were fierce and angry as flaming knives, ready and willing to rip out the firebender's gullet.

"Now they're coming – damn, we have to get out of here, they can't find me –"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Zuko barked, but he did not again assail the newcomer; Aang's eyes were focused too steadily on him, and now the man was talking like a fugitive himself. The suspicion was still there, but it was dying – the man was not behaving like any earthbender or Dai Li Zuko had ever encountered. He lacked the ease and confidence of an earthbender citizen with no history of spit on his shoes, or cruel, dark, superior eyes, or the smell of death beneath stone and sword in the washed, muddy streets of a city of villains…

"I was trying to help you, scar-face," hissed Sokka, but before Zuko could reply the door slid open and the earthbender soldier was there, staring into the compartment, his hands gloved with red rock.

"What do you men think –"

It was odd, how he didn't react to Sokka, who had somehow drawn his club and was ready to bash in the man's skull at the first possible moment; odder, how he didn't even notice, didn't even recognize, that Zuko's hands were wrapped in crimson flame, his stance set in a defensive position, prepared to blast a hole in the side of the train and escape if need be. It was odd, how the two men who would have made a thousand other earthbenders immediately rip up the floor to attack, could not merit his attention.

The only one he seemed concerned with, actually, was Aang.

"You – you! You're under arrest, Av –"

In the end, it was his lack of attention to the other two men that was his downfall. Why Aang's presence would call for anything other than a quizzical or disgusted look baffled Zuko, and yet he had seen the furious surprise on the man's face, the level of hatred that was usually reserved for peasants, waterbenders, and the crowd Zuko ran with.

The man was stone dead, skull blown open like a moose-lion had dashed him one across his scalp. Sokka had not sheathed his bloody club again, and for good reason. The sound of pounding feet in the hall meant the man had obviously called for aid beforehand, and if there were any good benders from the mid-train section they'd be in for a hell of a time.

"What did you mean, you were trying to help me?" said Zuko, perplexed, and pointedly ignoring the approaching danger. To his annoyance Sokka was ignoring him.

"You. What was he going to call you?" he said, eyes fierce again beneath his hair. Aang looked strangely calm, seeing as he was usually the one over-reacting to things. He had leapt fluidly to the outer window of the compartment and was trying to pry it open, despite the perilous speed of the train.

"There comin', righ'? We got to get us out – Zuko, they'd be lookin' for you, an Sokka you don' seem too in the smiles with 'em yourself. Let's go quick like, righ'? An talk later."

"But he was about to –"

"Shut it, ass," snarled Zuko, disliking the man more by the second, and daring to defend the airbender kid who he knew next to nothing about. Then again, Aang had fought alongside him in the fight at _Balda Harãm_, and this made him closer than kin in Zuko's eyes.

Sokka glared at Zuko and seemed ready with a reply, but at that moment Aang finally wedged the window open and the wind roared in, cold and loud and fierce, and drowning out anything that the boomerang-toting kid may have said. Only Aang's voice could be heard above the roar, and only because he practically screamed his lungs out.

"Jump when I say, savvy? Don' think 'bout it, jus' do it!"

Sokka went to open his big mouth again, but when the door to the compartment was suddenly wrenched open by a few more red-rocked hands, his warrior instinct returned and he e re-directed his attentions, throwing his weight into the hall and smashing in the earthbender's stomach. The poor soul howled and backed off, effectively blocking his fellows from reaching the door themselves. Zuko took the opportunity to fly forward, throw Sokka back into the room, and slam the door closed again, his hand aflame and turning the ornate lock to molten metal.

In seconds the men would remount their attack, but none of this danger seemed to vex Aang, who's concentration was with the window. Outside they were passing impossibly jagged walls of brown stone, following a track that cut through the direct center of a fierce mountain range Zuko knew as the Omashu-yamas, the mark of the border into Acchai. If Aang was suggesting what Zuko believed he was – that they should throw themselves out of the speeding train – there was no hope of survival. No space was carved between the train and the mountain, and he did not enjoy the idea of being crushed beneath the train.

Yet when the moment came, as the earthbenders finally ripped the door entirely off its hinges, and Sokka reached for the hilt of his sword, and Aang screamed to go, Zuko denied reason and practically threw himself out the window in blind desperation and obedience –

– and then there was terror, and horror, because he was falling through thin air, realizing the train had just breached the mountain-path and was crossing a mid-range bridge between peaks. He had thrown himself into the empty space of a gaping, mile-wide chasm between cliffs, and he was falling like a stone into the abyss; he could see Sokka, awkwardly flailing his arms, falling down after him with absolute panic on his face – and from far, far up where the bridge stood, Aang had just jumped –

– but he was no more than an ant against the skyline now, and not even bothering to wonder why he had trusted this fucking suicidal airbender kid Zuko closed his eyes and waited for the cold, sickening crunch of his eternity.


	6. Meanwhile

The abbey was on a separate little hill, just in viewing distance of _Balda Haram_, on the very edge of the Niraj Estate. It had always been an isolated establishment, full of its quiet nuns and priests, who smiled as they walked by each other in the halls, and joked in the corners, and bore no ill will towards any thing, man or beast or spirit alike.

They spent their days, mostly, in the caverns below the abbey itself, the hallows and tunnels where their manuscripts were kept, the history of the world in flowing ink. The true history of the world – not the textbooks the Advisors of the King had published in the Academy.

The truth, hidden away at the corner of the Union, buried in the dark.

Azula arrived that day knowing what she would find. She always knew.

The nuns opened the door to her graciously, as they always had. Their crinkled, aged smiles and calm voices incessantly annoyed Azula; yet she endured them, for their kindness was a gateway to her true goal. Her blood was cleaner than her brother's and she bore a higher rank within the Union, but she was still a firebender's daughter, heiress of Agni. Unless she married soon into the high classes of earthbenders and nobleman she would never hope to rise from her status as she was now: the caretaker in her father's household, overseer of the wealth he kept firm beneath his thumb. If she remained as she was, she would never own this treasure, as it was still assigned to Zuko, despite their father's will.

But Azula was not set on marrying an earthbender or a nobleman. Nor was she set with somehow inheriting her father's hidden wealth. Her heart mused on greater goals, darker goals. Dreams of power poisoned her, and she kept the saying in her heart: _the past repeats itself_.

She descended the stairs into the cavern without bothering to thank the doorman – he was an elderly man who couldn't see past his own hairy nose, and she found him a little more than revolting. She was wearing a flowing gold and red dress, beautifully cut, and worthy enough to be seen in court if ever Azula merited an invitation to one. It was the most gorgeous, expensive dress the family of Agni owned. It was once her mother's.

She knew which room he was in because she had asked several of the nuns upstairs; at first they were hesitant to tell her, as he was running from the law, and it was their right to protect him. Yet she was charming and suave and they gave in the end, and so she knew; third on the left, second down the hall.

The room was dark when she arrived in the doorway, but she could see him, trapped and miserable and alone, on the far side of the room. She should have been afraid. She was not.

"You're pathetic."

Jet did not answer her at once. He was sitting on the far side of the room, hard frame bent and weary upon his makeshift straw-cot. His tiger-hook swords were hanging beside him, off a peg in the wall. They were dull and unpolished.

"Did you hear me? I said you're pathetic," she was baiting him now, prodding a wounded lion. "I used to admire you, actually. Your father was a miller, and yet – yet you became legend, if only in _Balda Haram_. You fought like a ghost. And I was lucky enough to know you, if only through that worthless brother of mine."

"Remember who you are talking to, snake," hissed Jet. Azula stepped forwards into the room, and Jet stiffened, angrily, visibly.

"Yet for all the legend, here you are," Azula continued without missing a beat. "As soon as the Union comes for you, you run. You don't fight back, you don't die in the struggle. You run and hide behind the skirts of nuns."

"And you sell your body to landlords!" roared Jet, practically leaping from the cot. Azula flinched visibly at this. "You think you can sway them into handing you power, and wealth, and land. You think the Chosen King himself would take you as a concubine! Go on, then – live as a toy in the King's palace. Be his night-slave. But do not come here and mock me when we both will burn for our sins."

He glared at her, black eyes like the darkest fury of hell, and waited her reply. She had burned him, scorched the wild spirit that he was made from, accusing him of cowardice and retreat. It was a graver insult to him than any words from the mouth of a haughty earthbender.

For the first time in a long time Azula was shaken by his words; yet her voice remained even.

"Those are lies," she said. "I have never sold my body. Honestly."

Jet stifled into a laugh; a cruel, cold sort of laugh for him, but he was trapped in the catacombs and sought a source to purge his frustration.

"Well then, I guess I was wrong about you," he smiled, dangerous beneath the dark shadow of his hair, the fierceness of his eyes. "You really are a good soul. I'm glad we've settled that. Now why don't you take your lying ass out the door, and go to hell?"

"I need to know where my brother is," said Azula, and this was brave of her; Jet was caged and itching for a fight, for something, anything to break his captivity in the cellars of the abbey. He was sick of having to hide because of his wanted poster, sick of the relentless hunting of the Union.

Sick of not being able to do anything. Not being able to fight.

"Sorry," Jet grinned, his charming, infamous grin. "Can't help you. Honestly."

He turned away towards his cot again; a great number of old manuscripts were lain upon it, borrowed from the depths of the catacombs. They spoke of spirits and Nations and the Avatar, and on some singed, damaged piece of parchment, there lay the names of Agni, which the firsts Chosen King had tried so hard to erase. The title of Fire Lord, and Crown Prince. Of Sozen and Roku and the Comet.

Azula's hand on his shoulder was not a firm grip. It was uncharacteristically gentle, and it stirred suspicion in Jet's stomach. He turned to her, knowing where his swords hung, ready to deflect her blast of blue flame, the firebending she herself hated and feared.

"If you tell me," said Azula slowly, and with much care. "I will help you."

Jet did not buy in. He was impatient and itching and imprisoned, but he did not buy in.

"Yes, help me – because I'm so pathetic?" he snarled – but suddenly Azula's face was deadly close to his, and she had pressed her hands to his chest, and a tension had filled the room.

"You are a warrior of men," said Azula, and her voice was low, lips close against his neck. "To have to hide away in this darkness is more torture for you than the sharpest knife. I can free you. I can see that you walk again in the world, that you fight like a ghost. You need this. It is your nature, to fight and kill, as the nature of a lion is to fight and kill. You cannot survive without this. And there are… other things I am willing to give. I know the needs of men."

Her lips were pressed against his neck. She knew his weakness. She knew his desire.

When she withdrew, she allowed him the momentary relapse. Allowed him to bring his lips close to her own neck, to smell the dark depths of her freshly-washed hair. To slide one hand, one desperate, longing hand, up the side of her hip, into the arc beneath her breast.

"…You are a liar."

He pulled half an inch away from her. Her words had momentarily seduced him, arisen the warrior's passion. But Jet did not submit. He never had.

"You think I would break my promise?" Azula said it coyly, with a treacherous smile.

"No," said Jet, and his voice was fierce again. "I think you would use me for some other purpose. And I will not betray Zuko. He has been more a friend to me than anyone. I will not condemn him for a whore."

Azula closed the gap she had made between them, and in his pride Jet did not react. He did not push her away in disgust, but neither dared he to touch her, or show any longing for her offer.

"I know you will not submit to me," her lips were near his chin now, but still he did not flinch. "I do not expect it. I want you only to think this. I do not offer myself to you in the service of a whore. I offer submission. You are a warrior. I can bring you blood. You can deal your justice. And all I ask, and all I offer, are these two things: to know only where my brother is, to know that he is safe. And to be witness to the passion of the warrior."

She left, then without a word, leaving Jet alone in his dark prison.

Eventually he walked to the wall, took down his tiger-hook swords, and began to sharpen them.


	7. Sisters

Notes: I mixed a few cultures on this one, mainly Indian and Islamic, for Katara and Toph's dress.

First is the niqab. It is a head-covering, like an Islamic hijab. In Katara's and Toph's case, they wear half-niqabs.Second are the saris, which are Indian dresses. The style of them is not exactly consistent with the niqab, but you can imagine it however you want.

Also, I can't figure out how to divide scenes anymore without messing up everything else, so when a scene changes the word _Break _will appear. Like this:

_Break_

"Fucking airbender – fucking train – fucking lemur –"

Sokka was hacking his way through the undergrowth, barely scaling the edge of the pulsing, furious river at the bottom of the ravine. It was a massive, gargantuan thing; the water was the chorus of stampeding horses, a living monstrosity that roared and sank and rose and swallowed up the roots of the mountains like an ever-hungry demon. The vines and trees that dared to brace its edge were thrashed and all but uprooted. There was no sound of birds, no flitter of fish in the water.

"I tol' you, Sokka, we 'ad too, we was all gonna be in for a fight if'n we 'adn't –"

"We could've won a fucking fight, airbender!" roared Sokka, storming back to where Aang was following at a distance. "We could've taken that train! Three of us could've had them running, and I'd still be on my way back home, we wouldn't be lost at the bottom of a fucking mountain –"

"You can shut your fucking mouth," Zuko spat, coming upon them. He was less fierce now, being so close to the edge of the river; he hated rushing water, hated the idea of submerging, of lungs filled with fluid, drawn beneath the surface. It was a nightmare too vivid for him.

"Ah, the firebender speaks," sneered Sokka. "Anymore brilliant outbursts you'd like to have?"

Sparks flew between Zuko's teeth as he summoned the willpower to curb his rage. Sokka hesitated at the sight and took a step back, away from the firebender.

"First of all, I don't trust you, and I sure as hell never would of fought with you," snarled Zuko. "Where I come from we don't trust anyone 'less they can take a knife for you. Whatever reason they wanted you, they'd a had you, cause I sure as hell wouldn't have stopped them."

"You prick –"

"Wait your fucking turn. You think you're so damn better than us? I can see it in your eyes. I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you're in over your head here."

"You're the fucker who started it. He's the fucker that threw me off the train. All I had to do was keep cool and kill those recruits – they'd be off my back and –"

"– and the Engineers would have stopped the train and we'd be stuck the same way we're stuck now. Least this way they might report as dead. So why don't you suck up that ego of yours and admit it was a good move?"

"We still don't know where the fuck we are," Sokka snarled, and now he was up in Zuko's face, much to Zuko's increasing annoyance, and Aang's worry. "And unless you've got a pretty damn detailed map written all over that scar of yours, I think you can shut _your _mouth, _huo-rén_."

Zuko's hand burst into flame the same moment the trumpet call came over the hill, echoing deafeningly through the walls of the ravine. Luckily it distracted him enough not to singe all the flesh off of the boomerang kid's face.

A trail of smoke was rising on the horizon; Sokka had been making toward it ever since they had landed in the ravine, swinging from the sides of Aang's glider like two newborn cat-hawks. Now it thinned against the blue sky and vanished, as though the trumpets sounding in the ravine had subdued it.

"Wha' a hell?" Aang was muttering. He hadn't known what to say in Sokka and Zuko's fight, and now he was trying to further their attention away from each other.

"I know those horns," Sokka said, and immediately his attitude had changed. Gone was his anger, and a strange, relieved smile had broken out on his face. Zuko saw it, and doubted.

When he heard the clatter of ostrich-horse claws, muted against the earth, and the unfriendly cries of the men, he immediately began to seek an escape. There was no way to cross the raging water – and what good would that do him anyway, if they possessed longbows or slings? And if they were of Sokka's tribe, would they not also have boomerangs? Besides jumping into the river, there was only the path before them and the path back, and neither one promised safety. Irritated, Zuko realized that there was no possibility of escape – only of battle, and the thin hope that he and Aang could stumble away alive.

The airbender seemed more and more uncomfortable. Neither Sokka nor Zuko had brought up the incident on the train, but Sokka suspected even if Zuko didn't, and a mention was bound to arise.

It was a scout who came upon them, a younger man with such a raw, unruly look about him that Zuko wondered if he was part beast. His fellow rode up close behind him – a fatter specimen of a man, but nonetheless imposing. They were both dirty and caramel-skinned, and their black hair was wild and knotted like madmen, bodies coated in furs and leather armor, and each bearing a club or sword not unlike Sokka's. They were the wildest, most inhuman men Zuko had ever seen.

"Lord Sokka? Am I deceived?" the scout's voice was strangely civil, compared to his appearance.

"You are not. Bring me your General, sir."

"…At once, Lord."

He turned and rode back up the trail, swiftly and puzzlingly obedient. Zuko looked from the remaining scout to Sokka, and then to Aang; the airbender caught his eye and shook his head, obviously as confused as the firebender.

At this point, Zuko gave up the notion of running, and began to finger the hilts of his blades. His willingness to fight and flee, however, was instantly quenched several minutes later, when the General arrived. He was mounted on a huge, vicious tiger-stallion, a symbol of wealth and power and rank, and about his shoulder rested the fur-skin of a giant mole-bear, ten-inch claws still hanging at his sides.

He was a barbarian – Zuko knew it at once. He had heard fabulous stories of their kind, of the clans and tribes that fought and stole and died on the edges of the Union, who refused to submit to the tyranny of the Chosen King, and had made their own laws. They were considered demons and ghosts, and children still feared their coming in the night. Zuko finally understood why.

The man atop the tiger-stallion was the most fearsome creature Zuko had ever beheld. Amongst the thieves and killers that dwelled in _Balda Haram_, he had seen his share of monsters: cutthroats with black hearts, murderers who sang as they slew, a thousand different versions of the same demonic force, all rabid and bloodthirsty and terrifying.

But this man was not bloodthirsty. He was ferocious. Every move of his body was made with greater intensity and power than any blood-god of the earth, than any fierce deity Zuko could imagine. The ancient war-lords of the world's barbaric kingdoms would have quailed to stand in his presence. His eyes were fueled with the undying fires of a warrior's soul, drenched in such supremacy and strength that to stand against him would bring only certain and immediate death. His hair was wild and white, a touch of instability to the chiseled stone of his face and the raw ambition in his gaze. He was scarred, horribly, as all men of his ferocity were scarred; the two long, deep lines etched down the side of his face and across his eye were a testament to his bloodshed.

It was the first time Zuko would meet what the Union called "barbarian" – but he was not afraid. Rather he saw, in that moment, what it meant to live for the fight. For blood, and the smell of battle. And in his deepest, hottest core he wanted to become it.

Aang was speechless, and out of the corner of his eyes Zuko saw him swallow painfully. In a moment of clarity he realized how deep the boy's terror must run: the being before them was hardly a man. He was battle. He was struggle. He was blood and war.

"Lord Sokka. This is most strange."

His voice surpassed the image. He was the darkest thunders on the mountain, the ring of swords and clash of steel. Death was on his tongue and he knew how to deliver it.

"General Jeong-Jeong," said Sokka, and Zuko could hear a quaver in his voice. "I believe I can safely assume we are in the territory Tao Lin, then?"

"You are. But why, young Prince, are you lost in my wilderness on the edge of Acchai? You are supposed to be with your sister. She leaves in two days for her wedding at Masabi. I am her guardian. But you are her brother, and your duty is greater."

"I was set to arrive today," Sokka said, but the only thing Zuko heard from their lips was the referral to Sokka as a Prince – the absurdity, the stupidity of the idea intrigued him, and he kept his mouth shut. Jeong-Jeong was listening to Sokka's poor explanation of the happenings on the train, with what Zuko knew was a tactical and cunning ear.

"You can explain yourself to your father when you arrive late this evening," interrupted the General, and he was already beckoning for a brute to bring forth several steeds for their use. "I assume these men travel with you. Or am I to rid them from your sight?"

"They are no friends of mine," said Sokka quickly, and his eyes were on Zuko. "But…the airbender did save me, I suppose. Leave them be. Let them go their own way."

"Wait – Sokka – General, Sa', please, lemme speak for ma own –"

"What the hell are you doing, Aang?" hissed Zuko, but Aang ignored him. For all the trust Zuko had in the airbender, he thought him absurdly stupid that now, on the verge of their freedom, he chose to speak up.

"If it ain't too much trouble –" Jeong-Jeong's eyes were harder than stone, but Aang continued bravely. "Please, Sa', we ain't got no food or nothin' – an we a' tryin' to get to Acchai ourselves, see? Me motha', she migh' still be…We wouldn't be all much trouble, see, but we'd be los' out 'ere. No map or nothin'. Please, Sa', if you'll 'elp –"

"It is not my charge to aid strangers," said Jeong-Jeong lowly. "I am only to obey the Prince. Do his words sway you, Lord Sokka?"

Sokka was looking at Aang, and for all his badgering and fighting with Zuko he seemed to know, in his heart, that the airbender bore him no ill will. Irritated, he turned back to Jeong-Jeong and waved his hands, as if to dismiss the matter.

"Let them ride with our caravan. When we reach Al-Abhan, they may gather supplies in my father's house and be on their way."

_Break _

"I could always bend a tunnel in under the palace. We could escape away, and be rogues on the road. Maybe we'll even be famous, like the Thieves of Gihad."

Toph was smiling at her own musing, sowing up the patch in her dress despite her blindness, and the protests of the maids and other serving-women. She was never able to do any damned work while she was in their father's house, and this drove her insane. She would far rather be earthbending or playing with badger-moles, or at least doing some type of household work that needed a little elbow grease. Anything rather than sit around and eat pomengrantes and chocolate like all their fat sisters did.

"We would be pretty fearsome, wouldn't we?" Katara replied, smiling as she waded into the cool pool in the midst of their side-garden, her sari pinned up around her knees. Her white and blue half-niqab was loose, revealing her pink lips and brown cheeks, and had anyone been able to see her as such (thankfully they couldn't, as this was a private area for the sisters alone) they'd be too appalled to speak. Toph had actually completely removed her niqab; it was in a cool, green and yellow pile, crumpled in the grass at her side. Her own deep green sari was pulled up to her calves in a bundle, the top slightly unwrapped, as she found it bothersome when trying to get any work done.

"We'd be the greatest team ever! Come on Katara, let's just do it –"

Toph was ready to throw the dress away and blast a hole in the wall. Katara was bending water up out of the pool, turning it into a thousand different shapes, playing around with her ability to turn it into ice sculptures.

"You know we can't Toph. And you do know you're using blue thread on a your _red_ dress?"

"Ha ha," said Toph, ignoring her words, since she had already checked with a maid what color the thread was anyway. "You know you've got dirt on _your_ dress?"

"Wha –"

Toph's ankle pressed into the ground, just the slightest bit, and a brief shower of dirt sprang to life near the water's edge, staining the pristine blue of Katara's sari.

"Why you – come here –"

Immediately a barrier of rock formed between the two, and Toph was laughing on the other side; Katara's great tidal waves of water splashed uselessly against the stone, and the blind earthbender peeked out from her hiding place with a victorious smile. Afterwards their ensued a great, teasing battle; sometimes it strayed into what could almost be considered a bending duel – Katara and Toph would fire their jets of water or slabs of stone at the other, whereby the offending sister would leap or skip gracefully out of the way, sending their own attack back.

It became, however, a completely jovial afternoon. Katara covered a considerable amount of the grass with ice, and Toph, in both horror and glee, would rather slip and slide across her sister's creation for a better part of the time, trusting Katara to catch her before she ran into anything. Afterwards they took to leaping from the top of several of Toph's boulders into the pool, where they swam about and splashed each other and laughed over silly, sibling things.

When they could no longer bring themselves to slide and run and swim and bend and hide, they fell down in the grass, arms around each other in a sisterly embrace, giggling uncontrollably in the afternoon sun. For a long time they stayed there, enjoying the warmth of the grass, and watching the stray clouds roll by, a thousand feet above them.

"Katara?"

"Yeah, Toph?"

"I don't want to marry Long Feng, Katara."

Their saris were all but ruined now, and it would take a vast team of maids, and probably several hundred slabs of soap, to scrub them clean. Katara tried to remain calm, for the sake of her younger sister; but Toph could feel the fear in her voice.

"…Neither do I, Toph."

"Why doesn't father just send Ravi and the rest of them? They're more than willing."

"He says… he says it would be an insult for us not to go. Because we are his youngest daughters."

"Yeah right. Its only because we're not fat and – and ugly," spat Toph, but her voice had broken. Katara rolled over to embrace her just as she started to cry, spitting her hatred at their spoiled sisters and the detestable Long Feng.

For a long time they stayed in the grass, trying to make the time stand still and prolong the moment of their departure to Long Feng's court. They held each other as they cried; Toph, loudly sobbing and cursing her father, and their debt, and their senseless, shallow sisters – and Katara, letting the tears slide quietly down her face, so that Toph did not know she wept.

When their tears were spent, and their faces were red with crying, they turned their attention back to the clouds overhead. They were somehow darker than the white wisps they had seen before; there was no bright lining to their deep grays, only an ominous scowl upon the sky.

"You're really going to go through with it, aren't you?" said Toph.

"Are you?"

"…I guess. I don't want to."

"I know."

Katara reached over and took her sister's hand.

"We'll be together, though, every step of the way."

"Yeah we will," sniffed Toph, her spirit returning. "You'll need me to look after you, 'course."

"You bet I will."

They laid there in the sun for another long moment, vaguely remembering that dinner would be served soon, and afterwards was their etiquette training, and then their lessons with Hama – that horrible old hag, who watched and prepared them for marriage like she was fattening up cattle.

"I love you, Toph," Katara's voice was strained. "…Even though you're a mud-slug."

"I love you too, sugar-queen," said Toph.

Katara squeezed her hand, and they said nothing else until sometime later, when a serving-maid came to fetch them for dinner.


	8. Hama

Thank you to all who commented; they are very appreciated!

_Break_

"Line up, my little ones."

Hama's long, grey hair was loose and flowing within the Inner Chamber; she had no need to shield herself from the girls before her, a group of twenty this time, guests and daughters alike. The Lord of the Al-Abhad had five daughters to his name – yet the order for Long Feng had called for one hundred and one, each as unique and different as a flake of snow, from all corners of Acchai. It was Hama's charge to inspect them, to groom them, to assure that they were ready for the duties of a wife. From the smallest, most delicate, almond-eyed, white-skinned flower from the east, to the thick, peach-skinned, honey-haired jewel from the north, she judged and primed and perfected them all. Yet there was no woman among them who would receive such thorough examination as the daughters of the Lord.

The room was supported by a number of stone pillars at either end; the doors were lined with gold and precious metals, and the curtains across every window were of silk. The carpet was lush and deep and red, and along one wall there stood a huge, silver-lined mirror, reflecting everything the girls did with quiet patience. Also along the walls there stood a number of Hama's own tools: desks covered in oils and perfumes, great jars of powder and pastes, pins and needles and thread to tighten and lift the corners of each girl's dress. And there were other things, too: bands to shrink feet that had grown too large, belts to thin waists, and other more horrible beauty methods that made even the bravest, prettiest girls cringe.

Hama was currently inspecting Katara's sister, Ravi. Ravi was fatter and whiter than both Katara and Toph, but this seemed to be a compliment in Hama's book. Thick women were better for strong men, she mused to them one horrible afternoon – after a brutal explanation of the sorts of sick, carnal things that strong men wanted.

She approved of Ravi with only snide comments about her large feet and thick eyebrows: one of Hama's under-servants (these women were equally as horrible as Hama herself, most of the time) came instantly afterwards to stand beside her, ready to correct these flaws as soon as the rest of the inspection was over. Next in the line was Katara, who's niqab was on again, and after her Toph stood waiting.

Hama sniffed in a distinct, disgusted way when she reached Katara. She inspected her first with her eyes, but could find no mentionable fault. Then, with pained movements, as if she found it absolutely revolting to touch the girl, Hama undid her niqab and revealed her face.

The reaction was sudden and unexpected. Katara had forgotten that she had not put on her make-up that day, but she was instantly reminded.

"Foul girl!" Hama exclaimed. With one decisive stroke she slapped Katara across her dark-skinned face and sent her reeling against the wall. Stunned and confused, Katara dare not react, apart from holding the growing red welt on her face

"You mud-skinned harlot!" roared Hama – and then her gnarly hands were in Katara's hair, and she was being dragged towards the front of the room, where the grand, silver mirror stood glittering.

"I have told you a thousand times, you stinking whore, to apply that powder! You think because you where the niqab you can avoid it? Foolish, lying, stupid girl! You will apply the powder every day until it stains your foul skin white!"

She threw Katara back into the line, toppling against Ravi and another girl, both of whom were stifling cruel giggles. Hama made another move to approach Katara, and reprimand her – but at that moment a great, jagged hunk of stone broke free from one of the far pillars, and rocketed straight towards the wide-eyed woman.

Hama tried to dive out of the way, but the stone connected with her back and she toppled violently to the floor. Toph, enraged and out of control, sightless eyes on fire, stormed towards the witch with her hands held high and threateningly. Two rocks ripped upwards from underneath the carpet, aimed at old women's fallen form.

"Don't you _ever_, hit _my sister_ –"

Toph choked suddenly and her arms froze in mid-air. Hama's hand was outstretched towards her, fingers clenched slightly as the waterbender took control of the blood in her veins.

Instantly Katara was on her feet, arms outstretched to strangle the miserable old witch – but her attempt was in vain. With the other hand Hama caught her, and Katara's own blood forced her still, so that both sisters stood wide-eyed and paralyzed in place.

The other girls cried out and backed away. Only once before had they seen Hama bloodbend, and the reality of it was terrifying. Hama stared at the two motionless girls with evident cruelty, her smile like the fangs of a viper.

"Both of you will receive a lashing for your poor behavior," she said, emotionless and cold in the face of their terror. "Tomorrow you will fast – only water will be set before you at the dining-table. I will hold the fast as long as I see fit, even into the journey to the Desert. And if you ever _dare_ to bend in my presence again, you will be sent to Long Feng bound and beaten."

She released the two girls, waiting for their answer to her punishment. For a moment neither sister possessed the ability to speak. Then, softly and together, the muttered:

"As you command it, Mistress."

"Good. Now get back into line."

They did, and shortly afterwards Hama regarded Toph as dirty, insolent, and rude, but this seemed sufficient enough. Time passed, and when he finally finished her inspection, eighteen of the twenty girls left through the side-door to return to their chambers, giddy with relief.

Katara and Toph remained, to receive their lashing.

_Break_

When Aang and Zuko rode into the midst of the caravan, saddled on their borrowed ostrich-horses (Zuko's had an annoying habit of turning and biting at his heels), there were no kind faces to greet them. The wild scouts who had discovered the three men were mild in comparison to some of the brutal faces now scattered before them; scars were as common to them as spots on leopards, and their wild, unkept hair was braided in thick, unruly knots down their back. Their clothing was disheveled at most; after a time, Zuko began to realize that the more powerful of the warriors bore more fur linings to their armor, and greater cloaks – cloaks made from the skins of sabre-elks, and moose-lions, and a hundred other types of dangerous creatures completely foreign to Zuko. It was here he began to understand what Jet had implied to him, his last night in _Balda Haram _– that their textbooks were full of lies. Half of the creatures these men had slain were said to be mythical or extinct, and yet Zuko was seeing their dead skins with his own eyes.

Yet no one possessed an equal to the monstrosity of Jeong-Jeong's cloak; the blazing white fur of the mole-bear was stained with travel and use, and perhaps even the remains of blood. The beast's giant head was hollowed out, but its fanged jaw and burning eyes remained as a hood for the General, who Zuko imagined would look more terrifying than death had he worn it.

Sokka had no cloak, but the men bowed and signed respect to him as he rode by, and it was obvious they knew him well. Several men shouted to him in a different language, one Zuko had never heard before; Sokka smiled when they did and effortlessly replied in the same tongue.

"We were just breaking camp when the scouts spotted you," Jeong-Jeong was saying to (Zuko could not believe it still) the Prince. "We depart, at your order, for Al-Abhad. I hope your father is not angry with the hour of your coming."

"You know the man, Jeong-Jeong," said Sokka to the side. "He is always angry with me."

Jeong-Jeong nodded, took his leave, and spurred his tiger-stallion to the head of the column of men that was forming in the mountain valley. The tents and camp sets had all been packed away, and most of the men were mounting their own steeds; Zuko examined them all with a wary eye, aware that these were not men of civility.

"Thanks agin, Sokka," Aang said, spurring his ostrich-horse up to Sokka's side. Momo was curled up inside the airbender's shirt, scared and uncomfortable with all the unfriendly eyes upon them.

"I was a little harsh to you, I admit," said Sokka, and bravely enough he looked at Zuko too. "The situation on the train was one I never desired to be in. Afterwards I wanted nothing to do with you."

"I want to apologize as well," said Zuko suddenly, and both Aang and Sokka turned to look at him incredulously. Zuko was not unnerved; his face was set as stone. "I assumed many things about you that were not true. I baited you into anger."

"If you say this because you know I'm a Prince now, then I would be very disappointed –"

"I would not care if you were the Chosen King himself, Sokka," said Zuko, but this time there was no vehemence in his voice, and he was smiling. "But I see the way these men trust you. I see the way the General respects you. And a man who can merit this admiration from such men… I misjudged you at first. Forgive me."

Sokka grinned despite himself. From somewhere up at the head of the caravan, Jeong-Jeong was bringing his soldiers into line. There were nigh on a hundred men beneath his command, each one worth his weight in steel and courage, each as ruthless and loyal and ferocious as their fellow. In the wilds of Tao Lin and the border-lands of Acchai there was no room for petty things like mercy, or compassion. The Union was filled with soldiers who kept peace, even if it was only a superficial peace; yet Acchai was not a unified place, but one of rampant civil war, and robbery, and rival kingdoms.

Zuko knew little of the place, but this was all better in the end – anything he learned of Acchai from the Union would have been false doctrine. It was a place of territory and survival, dependant on the strength of your arm and not of your pocket-book – but it was not altogether an anarchy. Kingdoms were overthrown and uprooted and reclaimed on a regular, recurring basis, and diplomatic relations were often handled with a sword, but there were set states of rule. The mightiest of men bought and sold peace with gold, and spices, and women, and employed barbarian tribes to protect their households and trade routes. There was always a war waging between one war-lord and another, always a cause to fight for, always resources to steal, wealth to obtain, lords to betray.

But there were alliances as well. Jeong-Jeong was proof of their existence. Long had this General of men fought for varying lords, and conquered his own lands – his scars were the mark of this past. Yet in all his conquests, his loyalty had never been as unchanging as to his current Lord, the Prince Sokka, and his father's house. As long as the man so lived there would be no betrayal against this son of the Aurora Tribe, heir of the house of Al-Abhad. No ill had befallen the household since the General had sworn his fealty, save for the debt of Long Feng, and the promise of his daughters for settlement.

Here there were waterbenders and earthbenders and firebenders in plenty, all the more feared for their unnatural abilities, but also all the more valued. In Jeong-Jeong's caravan, a third of the regiment were benders of these three kinds – airbenders were still rare in this part of the world, and many stared at Aang as he passed, following close to Sokka and Zuko. Sokka led themto the head of the line as the last of the men fell silent, and into stride behind their Lord.

"We must make Al-Abhad by sundown," Sokka roared, in a powerful voice that surprised Zuko. "We go fan-form until we reach the river _Rud-e-Karun_. Crawlers will receive half-portions. General Jeong-Jeong will set the pace."

The General reared on his tiger-stallion, roared something incoherent to the sky, and immediately broke into a gallop. The caravan of men behind him howled and cried out their approval, and Zuko and Aang spurred their ostrich-horses into a terrifying run to keep up with Sokka and the rest of the them.

They galloped for a good while, but it was not a pace to keep up all day; later, Zuko would realize, Jeong-Jeong would use it as a way to signal to robbers how strong their party was, and to encourage the men. The terrain they covered was savage and wild; when they were not dodging jagged rocks and cliffs, thrown down eons ago from the heights of the mountain, they were fighting their way through briars and thick patches of thorns. Te ostrich-horses were tough, and Jeong-Jeong's tiger-stallion fierce as any; but there was little protection for the legs of Zuko and Aang, who had no leather armor.

Heroically Zuko endured, desperate not to show any pain or weakness in the face of the barbarians around him. At some point in the ride he found himself side-by-side with Sokka again, who was keeping his eyes on Jeong-Jeong at the front.

"What are Crawlers?" Zuko asked him. He was realizing that Sokka was a man of experience in this land, whereas Zuko had none; whatever reason Jet had wanted him here, Sokka could hold the explanation – or at least a little insight.

"Laggers," said Sokka instantly. "Men who fall too far behind. A man who strays too long from his fellows in this place is only working trouble."

"You' a lo' more pleasan' now then on tha' train, Sokka," said Aang, who was sitting cross-legged on his ostrich-horse despite the fast pace set by Jeong-Jeong. "Why was you so ang'ry, anyhow?

"Well, you did throw me out a window, Aang" said Sokka, but he laughed at the memory. As suddenly as his princely eloquence had arrived, it was gone now, and he was the awkward goofy man from the train. "But out here you have to keep up appearance a lot. Its like you said: you don't trust anyone unless they can take a knife for you. I took one, for General Jeong-Jeong, a long time ago... and for that these men would follow me til the end."

"Who is he?" Zuko was genuinely interested in the barbaric man. "I mean, what is his history?"

"Jeong-Jeong was a partner to my father, many years ago," said Sokka. "They were both Generals, serving together under another war-lord. They mounted an attack and overthrew him, for he was corrupt, and stole from his subjects – everything from land, to women, to food. Once he was defeated, Jeong-Jeong chose to stay beneath Fong as a General, and Fong inherited the lands, renaming them Al-Abhad. Jeong-Jeong never wanted power or wealth; but you could probably tell that already."

Zuko did know it. When you were battle, when you were war, things like money and land meant nothing. There was only the sting of the fight, the lust for blood, the feeling of the kill.

"Then General Fong is your father?" Zuko asked.

For some reason, Sokka did not answer at once. He kept his eyes before him, strangely immobile, until Zuko began to suspect he had offended him.

"No," said Sokka, almost too quiet for Zuko to hear. "In word and name I am his son. But he is not my father. I bear no love or debt to him."

Something hit home, deep in Zuko's heart. He thought of his mother, dead and burned and buried. Of the cold, yellow eyes of his father.

"I think I know that feeling," he said it sideways to the warrior-Prince. Sokka smiled, and stretch atop his ostrich-horse. Then he was rubbing his stomach.

"Are you hungry? I'm starving. God – you there! Got any meats?"

_Break_

"It's weighing on you. It will only get worse, you know."

It was the fourth night Azula had visited Jet, in the cellars of the abbey. She had taken to sitting in a little wooden chair across from his bed, and staring at him as he leafed through his collection of parchments and scrolls. So far he had adequately ignored her, despite his anger, and impatience at his imprisonment. He had been at the abbey for nearly two weeks. It seemed an eternity.

"You'll waste away in here. You'll lose your skill."

"Why don't you go fuck an earthbender?" his fury made her smile, the vague glimpse of his still unbroken spirit.

"I've already told you," she leaned back in her chair, let the sleeve of her dress slide slightly down her shoulder, revealing the smooth, white skin. "I don't want anyone else. Only the warrior."

Jet saw it, and the desire stirred in him again. He forced his head down to the scroll, but he could no longer concentrate on the words he was reading. It was eating at him, eating at him – everything was gnawing him down slowly, driving him slowly mad, unable to breathe the free air, to live, to love, to _fight…_

If only he could _fight_.

"You terrified them," Azula was purring now. His eyes never moved from the same line of words on the page . She raised herself slowly from the chair and began to walk towards him.

"You were just a miller's son, and yet you terrified them. You have what no other man has, in all the Union; you have the will, the desire, the_ need_ for war. For blood. You terrified them. You terrified me. And I loved you for that. And I needed you for that. All you have to do is need it back, answer one simple question, do one simple task. And you'll be free again. You are a warrior… and you _need to kill_."

In a second his hand was at her throat, and the chair was overturned, and she was slammed against the wall, too shocked to bring any fire to her hands. He pinned her there, one hand squeezing her white wrist, the other tight around her throat.

"I could kill you," he snarled, and there was real intent in his eyes.

She waited to reply. Waited for him to realize their position.

"I am your escape," she whispered, cautiously. "I am your only escape."

He blinked. He hesitated. The hand around her throat loosened, and his eyes lowered towards her pale neck, red now from where his fingers grabbed her. Down across her collarbone, to the beginning of her breast, hidden beneath the dress.

Azula's voice was under his ear, and her breathe was hot.

"I can free you."

He did not say anything. Not yet. Azula moved her body slightly against him.

"I can _free_ you, Jet…"

Jet's voice was almost muffled, desperate in its tone, but fierce with hatred.

"…How?"

He kissed her neck, viciously, hungrily, forced his body against her. She sighed and smiled and waited for the lust to consume him; and then she began to whisper her task into his ear.


	9. Al Abhad

The house of Lord Fong was built from the collective treasures of the war-lords he had conquered; 350 acres of land lay about his palace, all fed from the streams that ran down from the _Rud-e Karun_, and all put to the use of his household. Rows of spreading, emerald fig trees dominated the southern edges of his palace, and besides this there was the yellow-skinned quince, and dark, plump olives, and even the rare lychee nut. He imported his rice and spices on a regular basis from the East, and owned several grain farms that provided breads and pita for his table. Yet the pomengranate trees were the greatest mark of his wealth – they lined, for several green-red rows, the main path to the entrance of Al-Abhad. Amidst the barbarity, fruitless terrain, and strangled brush of Acchai, Lord Fong had produced an oasis of culture and prosperity unequaled by any of his neighbors, save for Masabi, the distant dwelling of Long Feng.

His palace was made of high arches and domes and pinnacles of carven stone; he himself was an earthbender, and had long ago banded with others to uplift his conquered palace, to design and change it into an absolute masterpiece. The entrance was a massive, sweeping arc, upon which many battles and forms of spirit-gods were painted, from the beautiful, white-haired Moon Spirit to a victory over the Eagle-Claw Tribe, who had rode in from the west and besieged the palace in its early years. Jeong-Jeong's name, along with many other loyal men, was carved into each side of the arc, as a tribute to their service. Some names, however, were crossed out: traitors or deserters, fallen from the Lord's favor.

The midst of the palace was open the sky, an oval-shaped courtyard with several pomengranate trees growing in the midst, and rare flowers growing along every edge. Here, the animals of the house were allowed to roam, the trained bears and dogs and monkeys of the palace zoo – which were an endless delight, both to his daughters and the servants. Behind the courtyard, the bedrooms, meeting-halls, war chambers, and privates studies of Lord Fong dwelled beneath a tall tower of red and white stone, carved to resemble great elephants and mole-bears and rhinos, as the Lord loved animals, and the thrill of the hunt. The top of his tower was capped with a glorious silver dome, and from it's peak a flag was waving, blazing the symbol of his house: a hollowed, yellow circle on a green field.

Beneath this tower his greatest Generals, such as Jeong-Jeong, had their abode; from their, the soldier's quarters spread out to the left, gradually decreasing in splendor until the servants quarters made an end. The kitchen and dinning halls were set close to each other, just before the Lord's own tower, though there were separate halls for the servants to use when going to and from the rooms. One whole half of his palace Lord Fong never even saw; this was where his daughters dwelled, with their rooms of satin and silk, and their private gardens and fountains and dancing-rooms. It was unspeakable for men to enter the rooms of the women, unless there was great peril – it was claimed as a sign of respect and chastity towards them.

Now, however, the rooms of Fong's daughters were overcrowded with foreign women; each bedroom had at least six women, and each parlor contained a greater number sleeping on couches or cots – many of the servants had even given up their beds for the sake of their masters. The less refined of the brides were made to spend their nights in woolen tents just outside the palace, where food, water, and other necessities had to be brought to them, for all one hundred and fifty girls, along with the men, caretakers, and Lords of the household, would not fit in the dining hall.

Katara and Toph had chosen to abandon their own cushioned rooms to sleep in a servant's quarter. Against traditional rules, they would no allow the servant to sleep outside, on the floor, but allowed her to make her own bed while the sisters shared a mattress. Out of all the Lord's daughters, his two youngest were loved the best by the servants, and for good reason. Unlike his older daughters, Katara and Toph treated the servants well, and as friends rather than slaves. The girl whom they shared their room with now, who's name was Song, had long been a close and secret friend of theirs.

She bustled into the room, carrying the cleaned saris that Katara and Toph had destroyed, and began to pack them away into their trunks. She spoke the barbarian language originally, and though her mastery of the household tongue was fairly good, she sometimes slipped in her words.

"Next time, you do thing like this," she said, gesturing to the saris. "Invite me. It looks a lot of fun!"

"Oh, thank you, Song!" said Katara sincerely, leaping up off the bed, where she had been reading and old, dusty book. Toph was out in the courtyard, playing with a particularly fuzzy dog, at the moment. "You didn't have to do that."

"I want to. Better than have one of Hama's women do it," she shuddered at the thought, but then saw the book in Katara's hand. "_M__ǔ __Chén_! Who has seen you with this? If Hama finds –"

"Its ok, Song," said Katara hurriedly, quickly putting the book in beneath the saris in the trunk. "I'm very careful. She doesn't know. I get them from my father's library, sometimes, when we have lunch – he never reads them, and he's never noticed any missing before."

"Then I will not say a word," said Song, with a knowing smile. She began to strip Katara's bed of its sheets, to wash and change them; Katara took one side, and Song the other, and they began to fold. If any of her sister had been watching, they would be appalled.

"Has Sokka arrived yet?" asked Katara hopefully, shaking out the sheet. Song sighed and shook her head sadly.

"No. The servant sent to the station to fetch him returned to say, he was not on the train."

Katara's heart failed her. In all the wild, cruel world, in all the dangers of Acchai, Sokka was the one she had sought for guidance and protection. He was not well-loved by their Fong, but this drew him closer to her and Toph. Two years older than she was, he had already experience much more than she, this only son of Lord Fong, the one the servants and the soldiers called Prince Sokka when his father was vacant, was their one hope and stability.

It was Sokka that would escort them to Masabi; Sokka, who had chosen the route through the Desert, where the library lay buried; Sokka, who had gone into the Union, against their father's wishes, to seek out the one man who could aid them.

"Do you think… something happened to him?" she asked warily. Song took the sheet from her and placed it into the washing basket.

"Of course not," she piped reproachfully. "He's the Prince of the Aurora Tribe! As though an ill would ever happen on him."

"_To_ him, Song," said Katara, but she was smiling. Gathering up a bundle of other odd pieces of dirty clothing (most of them were dirt-encrusted saris of Toph's), she began to follow Song out of the door.

"Katara!" said Song, pointing suddenly to her own black niqab. Katara got the message and quickly fixed her white niqab back in place. It would not do to enter the courtyard unveiled. The two walked into the hall, talking and giggling, until they reached the courtyard and the gang of jovial, slobbering dogs tackled them. The delighted smile of Toph, who had probably excited the dogs and put them up to the task, was dancing in the background. The scowls of their fat sisters, whom rarely saw fit to speak to them, they would easily and blissfully ignore.

When they crossed the _Rud-e Karun_ (an act that seriously upset Zuko, who had to keep up with the caravan and force his ostrich-horse to plough through the rushing water), Jeong-Jeong slowed the pace. No robbers had bothered them upon the road; the thieves of Acchai knew the horns of the General beneath Fong, and knew that to fight his men was folly. Nonetheless Zuko and Aang were both showing signs of weariness that the rest of the men – even Sokka – were not. Aang's head was drooping against the neck of his ostrich-horse, revealing the line of the arrow riding down the back of his neck. He was no longer sitting cross-legged, but let his legs dangle effortlessly over either side of his steed.

Zuko's body was aching, but his mind was reeling. Finally able to rethink the incidents on the train, he realized the reaction of the earthbender was too acute to be normal. In the Union, Zuko had seen only two other airbenders in his lifetime, and neither of the incidents was pleasant. Soldiers took to beating, torturing, and killing these men, whom of all non-earthbenders were hated most by the Chosen King. A firebender was considered a criminal, and a waterbender a witch – but airbenders were the scum of the earth, and fair play to all.

And yet the earthbender on the train had not just seen an airbender. He had seen _Aang_. He had _recognized_ him. And he had almost called him by name – or had it been Aang's name that he was going to say, and not something else? The mystery of the situation bothered him. He would make a point to ask Aang later, he supposed.

He spent the rest of his time thinking about Mai. He wondered if his words had meant anything in her ears – if she had decided to ignore Zhanu's calls, as he had asked. Mai had never shown the same adoration and longing for him as Zuko had for her; she was too wrapped in her high, pristine world, and had the sense not to show interest in the heir of Agni, the banished, bastard son of Ozai. And yet there were moments – moments when that slight, pink smile danced upon her white face, when he saw the glitter of affection in her dark, endless eyes. She was always able to give him just enough, just enough to keep his rapt adoration for her, the burning, unfulfilled love.

He had set his heart on her from a young age, and he was fiercely loyal. As often as he hated her, he loved her – and somehow, he knew, when he returned from Acchai, he could return a changed man, able to give her the life of splendor she knew and loved.

Zuko did not realize, in this moment, that when he had jumped from the train, and death flashed before his eyes, he did not once think of Mai.

"Aye, Zuko," said Aang, tired and droopy-eyed. "You as bushed as me?"

"Maybe not as much as you," smiled Zuko. The Airbender grinned and leaned on the ostrich-horses neck again.

"Union's a lot different from 'ere," mumbled Aang. "S'where I grew up, you know. Me mother 'ad a lil' place, way in the south. Grew us our own farm an' all. 'Ad a bunch a pets, like Momo 'ere. But I never knew me da'."

"When'd you leave?" said Zuko, hoping he could pry the truth from Aang while he was so exhausted from the ride. "And why? Sounds like a pretty good life."

"Nowhere's good for me," said Aang, and there was a misery in his voice that Zuko pitied. "Couldn'a lived, too many wars goin' on, mother said it was dangerous. We tried to go to the Union, y'know. Tried to blend in. Soon as we found I was an airbender though, hell…"

His face was a mask of sorrow now, and Zuko felt a pull of despair in his heart for the poor kid; he'd probably never done a bad thing in his life, and all the world would hate him, just cause he was different. He wondered how such a kid, growing up in the bottom-most dregs of life, could turn out to be so cheery and optimistic.

"How'd you get to _Balda Haram_, then?"

"Took me mother back home in Acchai, see. 'Ad a friend look after 'er – she was getting' old, see, by then. Went back to the Union to make some money, cause our farm…it wasn't there no more. Couldn't get a good job, though, see, cause of the tattoos…"

"Why'd you get them in the first place?" said Zuko. "And who'd give them to you?"

"It was jus' after we found out wha' I was, you see. We went to –"

Suddenly Aang seemed to realize what he was talking about, and stopped in mid-sentence, abruptly alert.

"Don' matter," he mumbled. "All's matter is where we are now. You wanna hold Momo?"

"Well, no, not rea –"

It was too late. Momo jumped onto Zuko shoulder and was nuzzling him affectionately in a second, despite Zuko's protests. Sokka turned around, chewing on a cut of salted meat he had finally gotten off someone, and laughed. Zuko finally pinned the lemur in his arms, but at the sight of his big, pleading brown eyes, could do it no harm; it settled into Zuko's lap and stayed there until sunset, when they saw the towers of Al-Abhad on the horizon.

The gate-men had expected Jeong-Jeong, and the caravan of soldiers; what they had not expected was their Prince Sokka, accompanied by a peasant boy with airbender tattoos and a pale, ferocious man with a scar across his left eye. The presence of the flying lemur also seemed to confuse them.

"Zuko," Sokka beckoned the firebender to him after they were sufficiently passed the gate-men, and riding down the lane between the rows of pomengranate trees. Zuko trotted over to him, still wavering at the beginning of friendships with the man.

"When we come before my father, please be honest," he said lowly. "I will vouch for you and Aang, but he is not the most trusting of men. I don't know why you came to Acchai. I think it is your own business. But if he asks you, don't lie to him, no matter what it is."

For some reason he stole a glance at Aang, who was still sagging tiredly on his ostrich-horse.

"Sokka," said Zuko impulsively, catching his drift. "Do you think that earthebender on the train… do you think he knew something about Aang – something we don't know?"

"Yes, I do," it was odd, how Sokka didn't hesitate, didn't even blink. It made Zuko nervous – Aang had watched his back and fought alongside him in _Balda Haram_, and he would give his life for the airbender. But he couldn't trust men who kept dark secrets.

When they reached the entrance to the courtyard, Jeong-Jeong stepped his tiger-stallion aside and let Sokka enter first. Afterwards the General swung back in, directly behind the Prince, curtly blocking Zuko and Aang, who had to ride in third and fourth, followed by a company of barbarian soldiers.

The courtyard itself was empty, save for General Fong, who stood at its furthest edge, with his daughters behind him in a row; yet in the open halls around it, women and servants and maids were all assembled, awaiting the General Jeong-Jeong.

But when Sokka came through first, a huge, ecstatic cry went up, and in all different tongues there was chanting, and singing, and yelling for the Prince of the Aurora Tribe – and amidst it all Sokka stepped regally, and without fault. He stopped before his father, among the thunder of cheering and banging feet, with Jeong-Jeong to his right, and Zuko and Aang behind.


	10. Ghost

Whoo! Its hard to get chapters out so quick, but I'm trying. This IS a Zutara, don't worry, it's just definitely not a usual Zutara.

I want to explain two things that might be bothering people. Yes, Aang has an accent, I'm sorry : ( but there is a reason. Unlike Zuko, Jet, Sokka, and other characters, Aang has had very, very little education, and the accent is supposed to portray this gap. You'll see other characters with speech differences like his later on. Song's will start to come out more in later chapters.

This story is also a Jetzula, but its a weird Jetzula…but I guess Jetzula would always be kind of weird so…eh, whatever.

_Break_

Azula threw the cloak over her shoulders and straightened her hair. She was standing in the parlor of her father's house, and a carriage was waiting outside for her. She had no proper, jeweled pins to put in her hair, so she let it fall free, knowing her gorgeous locks would make all the snobby noblewomen jealous enough to do it themselves. She was wearing another of her mother's dresses: a gold one with white trim, devastatingly perfect on her slender body, and polished, re-painted shoes that looked far more expensive than they were worth. Azula knew how to take little, and make it seem like much.

"Where are you going tonight, my niece?"

Iroh was not dressed up. It was dark outside already, and the man was in his evening-robes, with a cup of hot jasmine tea in one hand. His eyes were weary with worrying for his nephew, and with tears he had shed with the passing of Ursa. The lines of sorrow in his face were etched suspiciously deep at this particular grief.

"To a party, Uncle," piped Azula cheerily. She took off the near table and slung it over her shoulder.

"And who is escorting you?" s

"Oh, Uncle," laughed Azula. She pranced towards the old man, who stiffened as she kissed his cheek. "Don't you worry. He's just another caller. They're all the same to me, you know… I think I have his name written down somewhere, however…"

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Iroh said forcefully, after Azula faked looking through her purse a few moments. "Just ensure that you are back before midnight. Your father may be… preoccupied, by I find it still necessary to worry for you."

"And glad I am you do!" smiled Azula, and kissed her Uncle's other cheek. As she passed him, making towards the door, she caught his aged, experienced eye.

Wicked gold flashed against suspicious yellow, and she exited into the night.

Jet was standing beside of the carriage, looking absolutely infuriated and miserable. He was in a somewhat-respectable suit stolen from the stores of a nobleman in a northern estate, and it was a horrible size; he was too tall for it, and it didn't completely get down to his shoes, but around his thin frame it was also too flabby and roomy. He looked more like a refined beggar than anything, and his huge flop of dark hair (which he had neglected to comb) was falling over his piercing eyes like a curtain. His face was set in a horrible, embarrassed scowl.

"Good evening, Jet," Azula said, still cheery. Jet's scowl deepened and he didn't reply, only helped her into the carriage as the driver stared, awkward and confused, at the couple. Jet got in shortly after and sat, sulking, on his side of the couch. For a long time they rode in silence, with Jet fuming against his own carriage door, glaring out the window. Azula waited, in a long silence, as the carriage bumped and rolled along the streets, until the boredom encompassed her.

"You haven't complimented me, Jet," she said gently. "…I wore this dress for you."

Jet turned and grabbed her wrist, but this time Azula expected it; she slithered from his grip, and before he could regain his hold, she took the side of his head in her own hand and kissed him fiercely. Angrily, he returned her kiss, punching the side of the carriage in swift hatred for himself.

"Don't be angry, love," hissed Azula, and her smile was wicked against Jet's furious, unbearable desperation. "Tonight you are the warrior once more."

"If you're lying…"

She silenced him with a treacherously soft kiss that no less suited her than a tutu would suit a grown moose-lion, but it did it's job of confusing and distracting him.

"I have never lied to you," she purred against his lips. "…I never will."

He did not trust her. She could see it in the infuriated depths of his dark eyes, hear it in the harsh tones of his voice. She didn't care. She would be disappointed if he trusted her.

The party was of special magnificence, mainly because it commemorated some anniversary of the Chosen King – not his birthday, but perhaps the date of his marriage, or his discovery by the Advisors. The Chosen King was believed to be reincarnated at each moment of his death, and it was up to the Advisors of the reign to locate his new form.

The room was coated in dusted gold; huge tapestries hung down from the walls, of all different shapes and lengths and hues, to bring in an air of festivity and wonder. The windows were lighted with rows of burning candles, and the floor was so clean, the light of the crystal chandeliers was practically glowing from the ground. Plush satin couches and mahogany chairs lined the walls, bordering the great, endless tables piled with delicacies: fruits from the far east and the deep southern jungles, barrels of breads and bottles of old wine, and the sides of roasted meats that stood evidence to the family's wealth.

Jet said nothing to any of them. Azula was able to talk and gossip casually amongst them, dazzle them with her wit and style; but Jet was not of their kind. He was not civil and pretty. He was a warrior.

Several of the guests had taken to staring at the wild-looking man, and to avoid further suspicion Azula forcibly brought him to the dance floor. He remained rigid as a board as they swept around the other couples, saved only by the exceptional grace of Azula.

"Do you see the man near the dining-table?" she whispered suddenly into his ear. Jet gave the faintest of nods, his body stiff with discomfort, which vaguely amused Azula.

"He owns nearly all the butcheries in the southern Union. All the finest meats go to his table, and to his friends. They don't pay a dime. He leaves the rotting pieces to sell at market. Fifty-two have died in_ Balda Pera_ from his spoiled meat."

Jet's hand tightened briefly on her waist, and she continued, building the righteous fury.

"The men gambling in the corner? They are landlords. Last week they cut their land's working-pay in half. Two pence a day. They sent the workers who protested to the gallows."

"That one, the Lord Kadar… he has raped three of his serving-women. His wife had one of them hanged, when she went to her for help. I suppose she thought she was lying."

"The soldier in the corner? He killed an innocent woman last week. Accused her of being an airbender, and beat her to death…of course, he received no punishment."

"They will all be punished," Jet snarled it. Azula had harnessed the terrible, all-consuming rage of a scorned soul. To serve the plight of the weak embodied Jet, to fight for freedom and truth and justice, and dancing like a mindless toy amongst this den of thieves and lions, he was an angel of death and vengeance.

All he needed was to be unleashed.

The night ended with a final goodbye from the man of the house. He raised his glass to the ceiling and cried out drunkenly, unaware of the hating eyes that followed him in the crowd.

"My good men, and women," he grinned and winked at some lady in a red dress. "Thank you all for your good company. Amidst the barbarians of our lifetime, I am glad to have friends such as you. May the spirits smile upon us! Even though – well I suppose they already do, don't they?"

He laughed, lifting up his silver goblet filled with expensive drink, and guzzled it down.

Jet made a move to follow him right then and there. His twin tiger-hook swords, sheathed but sharp, were hidden beneath his coat, strapped against his back. Azula stood before him and bared the way, one white hand on his chest, until nearly all the nobles were out the doors. Jet was trembling, shaking with unappeased rage.

"Where is Zuko?" she asked in a whisper.

Jet followed the corrupt with his eyes. Sinners, liars, stealers, killers, all worthy of death, followed by the eyes of vengeance incarnate.

"Acchai," he whispered it, too infuriated to fight her anymore, and she allowed him to follow the noblemen out into the night.

Azula smiled to herself and took a glass of wine from the table. Outside, there erupted the sounds of screaming women and yelling men, the roar of stone being thrown at an invisible foe – for Jet, free and fierce and bloodthirsty, was slaughtering his way amongst them, Azula's own terrible ghost.

_Break_

"Who is it? I can't tell. They're all on horses."

"It's _Sokka_! He's ok…he's with General Jeong-Jeong."

"Who are the two guys behind him?"

"I…I don't know. I can't really see them."

"Ha! Welcome to my world."

"Shh."

Katara quietly hushed Toph as their father glanced in their direction, silencing them with a look. His three other daughters, all pale and plump and unpleasant, sniggered and remained sickeningly proper.

Sokka was motionless atop his ostrich-horse, eyes fixed on his father, the great Lord Fong. The cheer had died down, but there were smiles on all the servant's faces, and several of the soldiers (forced to wait by the entrance, for there was not much room in the courtyard) were grinning proudly beneath their scars. Even Jeong-Jeong, it seemed, had the slightest, most undetectable hint of a smile.

Zuko could do no less than watch, awed, at the raw love and faith and pride they had in the Aurora Tribe warrior. Sokka did not respond to it, besides a slight nod to a few he knew personally, regal and humble upon his steed, the embodiment of true lordship. Zuko could no longer doubt in the man – despite all of his childish behavior on the train, when there was need for leadership and strength, he was a man to depend on – one who would truly take a knife for you.

The only ones who did not, in any way, seem pleased to see him, were three of the women who stood behind General Fong with their heads bowed; they were fat, and their faces were covered with clothe. Zuko had never seen a niqab before, but he wisely chose to accept it, and not cause a cultural clash. Aang, who Zuko guessed had seen this kind of dress before, was remaining silent and tense upon his own steed.

The General Fong was scowling. His great, dark beard was bundled up and odd-looking beneath his long face, and his graying hair was tucked and hidden beneath an aged warrior's helm. Whereas Jeong-Jeong was terrifying because of his barbaric soul and ferocious loyalties, Fong was only frightening in the way an overgrown child was frightening. He seemed a petty, jealous sort of man, but this was all the more dangerous – for he had power, and petty children with power are capable of far more cruelty than barbarians with common sense.

"You are late, son," he said, and his tone was malicious. "It seems I placed too much duty upon your shoulders. Or is it so difficult to for you to catch a train?"

"There were difficulties on the way, father," said Sokka, and Zuko could hear the veiled disdain in his voice; both men hated each other, though the reason escaped Zuko. "There were… earthbenders, causing trouble. I had to abandon the train. Luckily we stumbled upon Jeong-Jeong's camp."

"We?" Fong seemed to acknowledge Zuko and Aang for the first time. "Who are these men?"

"They are…" Sokka turned his head around, just enough to catch Zuko's eye. "…friends of mine. They were on the train with me. The boy, especially, helped me to escape."

"Who's he talking about, Katara?" Toph muttered quietly to her sister. Katara tried to crane her neck around to see the newcomers.

"There's one with…oh, he has a horrible scar…it's all over his eye…"

"Ouch. What about the other one?"

"Well he's – he's got a blue –" suddenly Katara burst into a smile, and had to grab her sister's hand. "It's a blue arrow tattoo! Toph, its an airbender! Sokka found him!"

"No way!" Toph squeezed Katara's hand, ignoring the biting remarks of her sisters to keep quiet. "I never doubted him. Not for a second."

"You two! Dismount and come forth," roared Fong, and his demeanor was anything but friendly. Remembering Sokka's words, Zuko dismounted without protest, and without reaction to the accusing, infuriating tone of the Lord. How Fong could be related to Sokka was beyond him.

Aang dismounted too, but he was by far the more nervous of the two; whether it was his presence as an airbender and the history of persecution he was sure to have, or some other unknown cause, the eyes of the Lord, and of those around him, were making him visibly uncomfortable.

Instinctively, Zuko went down to one knee before the Lord, though he was unused to any of the customs of Acchai. Aang hesitated, and then followed his example. Fong made no move, or attempt to dissuade them, but examined them thoroughly, as a hawk examining his prey.

"You. You have the tattoos of an airbender."

Zuko could see Aang, from the corner of his eye, head tilted to face the ground, body stiff and rigid as a board. He was not all comfortable in this position, and his clear, grey eyes betrayed this.

"Yes, Sa'. 'Cause I am one, see, Sa'."

"Coming to Acchai to escape the Union, were you?" growled Fong, and there was more than a simple, informative inquiry in his question.

"Well…not exactly, Sa'."

"What do you mean? Tell me."

"Well, Sa' – I came with me friend 'ere, 'cause like you said, the Union was tryin' to get us. But it ain't the only reason we came, Sa'. 'Nother friend of ours wanted me ta'…to 'elp Zuko 'ere, 'elp 'im with 'is own things."

"Zuko?" said Fong coldly, turning his eyes to the firebender. "That is a highly dishonorable name, in this part of the world."

"…It is the same in the Union then, sir," said Zuko, but he was boiling gently on the inside against this wretched Lord. Sokka suddenly dismounted from his steed and, thankfully enough, came to their aid.

"Father, let me vouch for them: this is Zuko of Agni, and Aang, who was born in the south. They have their own business in Acchai; but they need some direction, I think. Both of them are good men, but they would not do long on their own in this land."

"You seem to already have a set mind on their matter," said Fong suspiciously, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "When you brought strangers to our door I thought you were leading in prisoners, or worthy soldiers – but it seems they are merely two peasants from across the mountains. Why should I care for their fates, or let them stay in my home?"

"Please, Sa', we didn't mean no 'arm, we jus' –"

Aang didn't have time to react. Fong's hand hit his face like a thunderclap, and the boy, stunned and aghast, tumbled blindly into Zuko. Momo leapt from his shirt and flew, straight and screeching, at the Lord's face – but with one crushing hand he grabbed the lemur and threw him violently to the earth before his airbender. The poor creature crumpled there, whining, its body bruised, as Zuko tried to steady Aang. Around them, servants were gasping in shock, and suddenly Sokka's hand was around his father's wrist, an iron vice.

"You bastard –"

Fong twisted his own wrist and loosed Sokka's hold, and then there was a horrible _snap_, as the Lord bent his son's elbow around and pinned his arm against his back, excruciatingly fast and fluid; Sokka let out a loud, startled gasp of pain before Fong's boot crashed down on his back and sent him flying, face-first, into the dust.

No one else in the courtyard had dared to speak, or move. Sokka writhed on the ground, massaging his damaged arm, as a staggered Zuko tried to prop up Aang, still dizzy from the unexpected blow. Jeong-Jeong's knuckles were white on the reins of his tiger-stallion.

"Do not think I forget the merits of my title," he snarled, looking at Aang now, as though Sokka's rage meant nothing to him. "You spoke out of turn, airbender. Do not let it happen again."

Sokka stood slowly from where his father had kicked him, and Zuko, amazed at the collective and well-managed fury in the warrior's gaze, felt heat under his fingertips as the anger began to consume him. Aang stumbled back down to his knee, massaging the side of his face.

"I want them both to accompany the caravan to Masabi," said Sokka, loudly and fiercely, and straight into his father's cold, unmoving face. "Aang is an airbender, and Zuko a firebender; there are dangers on the road and they will be employed to defend the company."

It was the strangest moment Zuko had ever witnessed. The courtyard was silent, and besides the startled gasps and shocked looks from a small few of the servants, no one seemed stunned that the Lord had just beaten Aang or Sokka. Jeong-Jeong had hardly moved, and definitely remained calm when the Lord laid hands upon the Prince, and the soldiers at the gate were apathetic. Zuko felt his fingers digging into the earth, to help extinguish the flame of fury that was seeping from his skin.

But suddenly there was also Sokka, saying he wanted them to go with him to – where was it? Masabi? Zuko tried to remember if Jet had ever mentioned it to him – but the thought of Jet made him question, in the entire depths of him, why the hell he was even here."

_I need you to find out who you are. The truth about Agni. The truth about…about everything._

"It would have been simpler to say that first, wouldn't it, _son_?" snarled Fong. Sokka twitched, ever so slightly, but did not react as his father studied him, smiling conceitedly. Zuko's hatred deepened ever so unbearably, and his fingers began to smoke gently.

"General," said Fong abruptly, turning to Jeong-Jeong, who had not moved, or perhaps even blinked, since they arrived in the courtyard. "What do you say to this?"

In the vaguest, most undetectable motion, Jeong-Jeong caught the eye of the Prince.

"The thieves of Gihad wax worse every year," he said, and again his voice was full of threat and thunder and fire, and servants averted their eyes from him. "A caravan of our kind will inevitably attract their attention. It would do no harm to have two more benders in our ranks."

"Well then…at last, it seems, my son and my General are capable of making their own plans, without my council," said Fong with a witty smile, but there was veiled viciousness behind it. "If you can find room for them, they can accompany under your hand, General. But train them not to speak such rudeness to their Lords."

"Yes. My thanks, Lord Fong."

"Measure their strength as soon as possible, and report back to me tonight," said Fong nodding towards one of his daughters, the oldest and fattest of them all. "There will be no delay tomorrow."

"Of course."

Lord Fong turned and strode back to his tower, his footsteps loud and ominous against the ground. There was no movement in the courtyard until all were sure of his departure; and then, with one accord, a cheer went up, and a wave of adoring servants swarmed in upon Sokka.

Zuko and Aang were caught in the fray, but one sharp word from Jeong-Jeong and the frenzy ceased, developing into an organized chaos of praising women and cheering men, all of whom cam to bow their heads and shake hands and wish health upon the Prince.

Then, suddenly, someone grabbed Zuko's hand. He had to check himself before reacting with a blow, and probably saved the poor servant's skin for her. She had dark, braided hair and white skin, and there was a strange inflection on her tongue, but she took Zuko's hand in both of her own and touched her forehead to his palm, whole face veiled by the niqab, save for her soft, grey eyes.

"Peace and health to you, _mitra-Sahadev_."

She moved onto Aang then, who looked even more uncomfortable than Zuko, probably because he had never been respected his entire life. The daughters of Lord Fong were bowing their greetings to Sokka, whom Zuko edged closer to, trying to avoid the sudden throng of servants.

"Sokka! Sokka you did it –"

"Shh, Katara," Zuko heard him say, holding one of his sisters in a hug. "Don't say anything. Not yet. You neither, Toph."

"What's wrong with you, ponytail?" said the girl to the left of the sister Katara. Aang joined Zuko, finally, curling the frightened Momo to his chest, in time to see them both standing before Sokka.

"Go say your respects to my friends, sisters," Sokka said abruptly. Jeong-Jeong had finally dismounted and was waiting, ever patient, beside his Prince.

The sister Sokka called Katara came and took Zuko's hands in hers, bowing her head as the servant had done. When she lifted her eye again, her gaze lingered, unwillingly, on the horror of Zuko's scarred, left eye – then she moved on quickly to Aang, hoping Zuko didn't notice. Zuko had noticed; but he didn't care much about people staring anymore.

The second sister was blind, and had a harder time finding their hands. Once both women (and a good quantity of servants) had left the courtyard, Jeong-Jeong at last approached Zuko, beckoning Sokka away, to rest in his own quarters.

"I must see my warriors are provided for," he stated, and Zuko realized then how very great Jeong-Jeong was in comparison to Fong. "I will meet you here, again, before the dinner bell. I will see this firebending of yours, Zuko of Agni. As for you, Aang of the south, you will demonstrate your airbending, though I have no true master to judge you."

"S'ok," Aang shrugged pleasantly. Jeong-Jeong bowed briefly and left.

Momo regained his playful confidence a little while later, as Zuko and Aang sat waiting in the courtyard. It made friends with a few of Fong's dogs, and a funny game of tag was going on between the creatures. At some point during this time, Aang, making sure no prying ears were listening, turned to Zuko and said:

"Aye, Did you see that wom'n, Zuko? Did'ya? Sokka's sista – the one in the blue dress?"

"…Yes. I suppose," the girl had already slipped Zuko's mind.

"Yeah…she was somethin'...those eye's a 'er's, blue as the sky…"


	11. Agni Kai

"How well do you know the firebending art, Zuko of Agni?"

Jeong-Jeong had removed his mole-bear cloak, his leather armor, his undershirt; he stood before Zuko, scarred body revealed, much to the amused giggles of passing-serving women. Zuko had removed his own shirt, but he was nowhere near as defined as the war-torn man before him.

"…Not as well as you, General," he tried, awkwardly. A small, rare smile escaped the edge of Jeong-Jeong's lip.

"Humility. A rare thing," he said simply. Aang was sitting cross-legged beneath one of the pomengranate trees, Momo curled up in his lap and asleep, tired out from the days events. Aang himself was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but he was trying, desperately, so he could see Zuko firebend. The airbender had already forgotten the incident with Fong.

Jeong-Jeong assumed defensive stance and awaited Zuko politely. Zuko mirrored him, but as he lowered himself into the position he felt a rush of fear in his veins – in the wastes of Acchai, amidst the heat and war of the outer-lands, Jeong-Jeong had fought his way against very odd, and defeated them all. How many fights had this General won, how many masters put to shame, how many men killed? And here was Zuko, striving to remember the breathing and motion his Uncle had taught him, with the fear crawling beneath his skin like a slow poison.

Suddenly he knew he couldn't do it. The General was too strong, and his fear was too great; for the first time he was ready to avoid a battle, to surrender if necessary – for he couldn't fight the General, couldn't hope to survive a moment against his ferocity –

And then the fire came, and he could no longer stop it. He had to survive it.

Jeong-Jeong's flame was white as snow and blazing, a brutal reflection of the man, hotter than the dungeons of hell against Zuko's skin. He had never seen the like it before, not even from his savage sister Azula, and deflecting the first blast was terrifying.

He managed to keep his feet, to find his way around the courtyard, trying all the while to defend himself from the pure inferno that was Jeong-Jeong. The General said nothing, offered no council or advice; only attacked without mercy, arms as pillars of flame.

He was too close to Zuko now, and his white fires were hot against his skin. In parrying moves they crossed and punched and blocked and kicked in vain at one another, as Jeong-Jeong was impenetrable, and Zuko too quick to catch. The exchange emboldened Zuko, and when Jeong-Jeong released a particularly vicious jet of flame, he spun towards the General wrapped in red fire, a tornado of red and white.

The result was disastrous and immediate: Zuko's fire was extinguished like a weak candle flame, and then Jeong-Jeong had his arm behind his head, so that for half a second Zuko was forced over and staring at the ground – and then Jeong-Jeong's knee crashed into his stomach and sent him flying across the courtyard.

Zuko had enough to time to crawl to his hands before Jeong-Jeong had him by the back of his neck, cruel and suffocating with the strength of his grip. Then there was the hot, white pain of Jeong-Jeong's fearsome flame against his back, and Zuko roared in agony and kicked up his legs behind him, releasing red flame into the General's face.

It phased Jeong-Jeong enough to release his hold on Zuko, who had hardly hit the earth before he spun, boring into the General's abdomen, igniting his fists once more. The General rebounded off of him and spun him away, but not well enough; Zuko sent a high, flying, fiery kick in his direction, slamming down his heel into the nook of the General's neck and shoulder, hoping to throw him off balance.

Jeong-Jeong remained solid as a rock, and suddenly the terror was back as his fingers crushed Zuko's ankle and he threw him clear across the grass, followed by a ribbon of flame. Zuko fell to his back, catching and extinguishing it, letting the higher fires pass over him like flaming angels – but then Jeong-Jeong was above him with in a blaze.

"Not good enough," Jeong-Jeong's words were piercing. Zuko spun up from his back and kicked out a great, brilliant yellow jet of flame, straight into the General's face; Jeong-Jeong bore through it effortlessly like he was parting water, face emotionless as stone.

Song, who had just entered the courtyard to witness their performance, dropped her cleaning and raced down the hall. The passing servants regarded her suspiciously, but she was too excited and afraid to speak, and she burst through the women's quarters without stopping to bow to any of the Lord's daughters.

"Katara!" Song was in the doorway to the private garden, where Katara and Toph were practicing their bending, until Hama came for their last inspection. "Toph! Katara! General Jeong-Jeong – he – with new man, _mitra-Sahadev _– they – they _Agni Kai_!"

Katara and Toph, crying out in disbelief, followed Song as she ran back out towards the courtyard, yelling at anyone who would listen what was happening in the courtyard.

Zuko was fighting now, fighting for his life, the burn from Jeong-Jeong's fire still screaming on his back. Katara and Toph entered the courtyard and immediately ran back to its edge as one Jeong-Jeong's white fires exploded against the wall beside them.

Numbed with desperation and the need of survival, fear no longer gripped Zuko. Calmer than before, he met Jeong-Jeong's attacks and began to return them. There was no style or grace in Jeong-Jeong's fighting: only the raw fury and brutality that had so often embodied the fighters in _Balda Haram_. Zuko though of Longshot and his perfect aim; of SmellerBee, and her lust for battle; of Jet, and the warrior of his spirit, the way he could shred among a hundred soldiers and escape without a scratch.

Subconsciously he began to slip into his state of elated, barbaric ecstasy that used to consume him in his fights against the soldiers. Jeong-Jeong suddenly found himself against a different opponent; with fluid skill Zuko adopted the General's technique and began to seek out his weaknesses.

Jeong-Jeong knew what would need to happen next.

The General's fists were seeking Zuko's flesh, but Zuko was keeping just enough distance from him, and in a sudden attempt to trap the other firebender, Jeong-Jeong swept his arms down the earth and set the ground ablaze; but Zuko had kicked out the flame from under him and slammed his heel into Jeong-Jeong's ankle, so the man's footing was lost. Zuko grabbed the man by one arm, turned him over, and stared at him with one victorious hand still flaming.

Then white metal flashed beneath the dying sunset, and the flesh on Zuko's arm rent open.

He cried out and stumbled away from the General, who's bloody dagger he had already wiped and slid back into his boot. The servants on the borders of the courtyard had not reacted, but Zuko was holding his arm in shock, and Aang was on his feet.

"Aye! Tha' ain't fair –"

His statement bewildered Toph, who was closest to him, getting the play-by-play of the fight from her sister. Even without seeing she could feel the anger consuming him, but as he took a step towards the duel she grabbed his arm and hissed to him.

"What are you talking about? It's an Agni Kai."

"This ain't no Agni Kai!" growled Aang, trying to loose her grip. "Least not no more! He pull' a dagger on Zuko!"

"So?" the girl's indifference startled him. She didn't seem to understand his meaning of 'fair'. "That's an Agni Kai. If it were a regular duel they wouldn't use firebending at all."

"Nah, s'not right," said Aang, and he was getting angry at the girl now. "In Agni Kai you use _only_ firebending, it's breakin' the rules if'n you pull a knife –"

"Look, twinkletoes, I don't know where you came from," said Toph, and suddenly she was prodding the airbender's chest with one threatening finger. "But here you don't ever interrupt an Agni Kai, and you don't complain about stupid things. We don't do fancy duels. Funny bending steps don't save you from thieves out here."

A brief desire rose in Zuko to accuse the General of cheating, or foul play. But one look from the man made him realize that this wasn't cheating.

This was how you survived in Acchai. This was an Agni Kai. This was a duel. And when it broke down to the naked truth, you had to be willing to pull daggers. You had to be willing to stab in the back. You had to be willing to do anything – anything to keep the blood inside your body and the breathe in your lungs.

Anything to stay alive. That was the truth in Jeong-Jeong's eyes, and the memories in his scars.

Zuko strode to the side of the courtyard, were his twin broadswords lay amongst his clothes, and drew them with a shrill, biting ring. Jeong-Jeong already had his sword-club in hand.

There after they fought a true duel, though Aang watched helpless and confused from the sidelines, and Zuko struggled against Jeong-Jeong's skill. Metal clashed in the air like captured thunder, and fire roared in brilliant streaks of red and white and yellow, burning up the ground they fought upon and scorching their skin until their hands were arms were red and blistered. Their weapons became hot and heavy, but only Jeong-Jeong's blade was red. In movements too calculated and accurate to be possible, he cut Zuko twice more, once upon his back and once on his shoulder. Zuko refused to acknowledge them, but kept his defense and his footing, at least long enough for a crowd to assemble in the courtyard, awed at the performance.

Zuko was getting weaker with each step, but he dare not show it. Song and Katara were watching the Agni Kai, eyes as big as plates, and muttering all the happenings to Toph.

"He's got him, there – no! He lit his _sword _on fire! Zuko, he did – but the General, he's stronger, he's – oh! He nearly tripped him, he's go him by the arm now – he go a hit, Zuko hit his stomach, but – oh, the General planned it, he – oh, no, he could've crushed the whole side of his face with that blow –"

Song was muttering on incoherently, but Katara was silent and staring, entranced by the beautifully dangerous duel raging before her, captivated by the savage, concentrated strength of the General – and the desperate, ferocious wildfires of the man called Zuko.

Inevitably the moment came when the General found the stranger's weak spot and attacked; with a harsh burst of fire he smashed into the back of Zuko's leg, sending him flying to the earth. With one last, desperate attempt Zuko slashed his sword at the General's face, but he could not tell if he managed to strike. Then he hit the ground and the air flew from his lungs, and he knew he had been beat.

Jeong-Jeong stood over the heir of Agni, smoking sword pressed to his white throat, Zuko winded and sweating from the fight. For a moment, a vague look of disappointment entered Jeong-Jeong's face.

Then something wet fell down across his eye and he blinked instinctively.

Bewilderment overcame him. Jeong-Jeong raised his free hand to wipe the sweat from his head, which was dripping into his eyes. Zuko was staring, fists still wrapped around either one of his swords, gasping for breathe, a sliver of red shining along one of his blades.

Jeong-Jeong withdrew his hand and looked at it. A streak of red was on his palm.

Katara was breathless, heart stopped beneath her sari. Her eyes were fixed on the firebender beneath Jeong-Jeong's blade, powerful as any man she had seen and yet…and yet – her heart fluttered, and she hardly heard Song when she whispered:

"…He cut the General."

"No," Toph's smile was one of horror and disbelief.

Jeong-Jeong stepped away from Zuko and bowed. Zuko, wincing from his burns and cuts, rose slowly from the ground, and did the same.

"Go dress your wounds, firebender Zuko. We leave tomorrow at sunrise," he stated, and with the simplicity of this statement, Zuko felt the General's respect for him.

"Airbender Aang, come with me," said Jeong-Jeong, beckoning to the boy. I will take you to the tower peak. You will show me the use of your glider, and whatever else you know of your art."

"Yes Sa', Gen'ral Sa'," Aang piped, but he stole aside to see Zuko first before leaving.

"You ok, Zuko?"

"Savvy, Aang," Zuko winced, obviously not in best shape, but feeling fuller and more respected than he ever had before in his life. Aang nodded, and a servant came to lead Zuko to his lodging for the night. Katara, heart still fast-paced and fluttering, confronted the General.

"I could heal your wounds, General," she offered. "And…and the warrior Zuko as well."

"I need no healing," said the General plainly. "And he must carry his wounds as proof of his worth. You will not dare to suggest this to him. I am sorry, Princess. You should prepare for the journey tomorrow."

Katara hesitated, but Zuko had already disappeared around the corner, into the nearest hall. Her eyes fluttered and she returned to look at the General.

"Yes…yes, I suppose I should…"

_Break_

"There will be a rhino-drawn desert-coach for every five girls, and one for Hama and her servants. The soldiers will pack their own sleeping rolls, but it is summer and I find no need for tents. The rations for the sky-bison will have to be strapped to the top of its cage – but we will need a dozen more camels to carry provisions and water, if we hope to cross the Desert."

"I have three more camels I can spare," said Fong shortly. "And perhaps a goat-mule. But otherwise I have no more to offer."

Sokka was standing before his father's study-desk, surrounded by the dark red walls hung with stuffed animal heads and furs, crests from defeated tribes and the helms of fallen warriors: trophies he horded and surrounded himself with, his own little self-worshipping shrine. His father was sitting in a leather-lined chair, irritated and awaiting his dinner.

"We will be short, then," said Sokka, and he was trying to keep his voice level. Being in his father's private study always unnerved him. "If we are attacked – if we lose any stores, it is possible a good part of the company will not make it to Masabi."

"Then you, son, should ensure the caravan is not attacked," snarled Fong. "After all the time you've spent in the desert with the General, you should have picked up a skill or two."

Sokka took a deep breathe. He had been through this dance before.

"It will not depend solely on my skill," he managed. "But the strength of the caravan."

"Do you not _lead_ this caravan?" Fong was pushing him, as he always did, to the edge. "Have you not already checked its strength? Ensured your men are loyal and fit to fight? If not, I suppose I will find someone else to protect the dowry."

"I am the best you have. And I remind you, that your daughters travel in this caravan too," he hissed. Fong leaned forward with fire in his eyes, and Sokka knew what was coming.

"I hope you do not speak of the younglings," he snarled. "You're mud-skinned sister and the blind babe. They are not my children, anymore than you are. I charged you to keep Ravi, and Inau, and Vulha safe, and as many of the other brides as possible. But do not think I value your precious ones anymore than I value that airbender peasant. I will pay my debt to Long Feng, and I will keep my palace, and you can rot in the sands, bastard-son."

He stood roughly, scattering a few of the books and scrolls on his desk (which Sokka knew he kept there only for show of his supposed brilliance) and began to walk towards the door. Dinner would be ready soon, and the cooks were making his favorite tonight: roast lamb and rice. Sokka spoke very lowly as his father neared him.

"Mother always said you were nothing but a child."

The blow came just as Sokka had expected it too. He did not react, apart from the raw force of his father's hand, which spun his head to the right.

Fong leaned in close to his son's ear. Sokka did not look at him, only kept his eyes forward, humiliated and furious, hands shaking slightly at his sides.

"Your mother was a whore," snapped Fong, and stormed out of the study in a rage.


	12. The Caravan

"Hey, so I've been thinking about something, you know, on the side. What if we started referring to the caravan as something other than…well…the caravan? Like…the Desert-Squad. Or, Sokka and the Traveling Benders."

Jeong-Jeong said nothing. Only gave the Prince a tired, indifferent look.

"…Well, its not like _you_ were going to come up with anything."

Zuko grinned a little to himself at Sokka's proposal. They were five days into the journey and already the Prince was bored; when he wasn't making strained (or nonexistent) conversation with the General, he fell behind with Aang and Zuko, or idly threw his boomerang around. He had even taken to playing with Momo on occasion, who, if nothing else, provided him some target practice or a few moments of unchecked rage, especially when the lemur decided to upset his ostrich-horse and have it gallop into the side of a rhino-coach.

The caravan was a straight line, stretching out across the barren rock and shrub lands that signaled the coming of the far _Aka-Yamas_, the red mountain range, and the borderline of the Desert. The desert itself had no name; not even the bandits and tribes that lived in its heart, riding their sand-surfers and on the backs of giant vulture-bees, stealing water and food from oasis to oasis – not even these men had ever considered to place a single word to its expanse, to the dreaded fury of the sands and the maddening heat overhead. It was a living, pulsing, all-consuming thing, this Desert – and out of unspoken respect to its power, no one dared to restrain it within a single word.

The caravan was a sight in itself. Each rhino-drawn coach was a two-roomed vehicle that, while small for the five girls within, was no less the magnificent for it's size. The outer shell was of carven, intricately designed wood, each panel on its face representative of the ladies who dwelled within: jungle tigers and banana trees for the southern women, blooming lotus flowers for the Temple girls, exotic birds and scarab beetles for the pyramid-maids of Mio – the gorgeous symbols stretched on down the line, two coaches at a time, with three mounted guards and a driver for each. Yet because of the intense heat of the desert, windows were cut jaggedly into the coach's sides to keep the cool wind blowing in. They were covered with thin curtains, to effectively hide the treasures within – but if a soldier so dared, he may be able to see a glimpse of bare arm, or an uncovered face, from around the edge of the curtain.

Zuko did not ever attempt for these peep-shows. Whether it was his longing and adoration for his distant Mai, or because the modesty of the land was so much more severe than he was used too, he had not yet tried to sneak a look at the ladies. In the midst of all the coaches, about half-way down the caravan, Hama's own coach stood like a black beetle in the sun; she was no gift to Long Feng, but the caretaker of his soon-to-be brides, and there was no fancy décor on the surface of her black coach. At the very end of the line, a huge, wood-and-iron cage was wheeled up behind, carrying a last, boastful present to the Emperor at Masabi: a true sky-bison, caught in the clouds of the _Aka-Yamas_, huge and white and terrifying within its cage.

From there the camels and goat-mules spanned out, surrounding the line of coaches, fully loaded and led by the slaves and servants bought for just this trip. Beyond them the soldiers and benders marched, or rode if they had the means; steeds were hard to support in the vast expanse of the Desert, no matter how tough the ostrich-horse. The hundred mounted men beneath General Jeong-Jeong were employed mostly to protect the coaches – which was probably poor judgment on Fong's part, as they were the fiercest and lustiest men in all Acchai. The other soldiers had all served under the General at one point, and respected him greatly – but more so they respected the money paid for the venture, and Jeong-Jeong knew well that a better offer would instantly turn them traitor.

Zuko had kept the ostrich-horse Jeong-Jeong lent him, but Aang preferred to walk. He kept up well, despite the sifting sands, and after a time Zuko became used to the height difference.

"S'all I'm sayin', Zuko, is she was somethin' – somethin' special in 'er eyes, I saw it."

"I don't like saying it, Aang, but don't get your hopes up for her," said Zuko plainly. He was growing more accustomed to Acchai. "They're promised brides right now. I don't like it at all, actually – to send brides to settle a debt. It's been bothering me ever since we left Al-Abhad."

"Me mother was a debt-bride," said Aang, in a matter-of-fact tone that bewildered Zuko. "S'not all that strange 'round 'ere. But I always did 'ave a feelin' 'bout it – like, me mother always taught me ta' respect a person, see? Don't seem like she got any respect tho'. Fact is, don't seem like any o' these girls do."

"Yeah," Zuko managed, looking at Sokka now with intent. "Seems like no one stood up for them, like no one even asked them. Sounds like Fong's just using them to keep this Long Feng off his back."

"It's more complicated than that," Sokka said, catching Zuko's tone of voice and meeting his fiery eye. "I wouldn't expect you to understand at once, coming from the Union."

"It's true though, isn't it?" pushed Zuko. It was not to be said he disliked Sokka; rather he very much liked and respected the man, but the situation seemed too outlandish and unfair to accept. "He sent his daughters off as presents. They seem to mean less to him then the whole of Al-Abhad."

For a long time Sokka said nothing. Jeong-Jeong, who still strode along with them at a distance, turned to look at the Prince's face. He barely caught his eyes before Sokka turned his horse, muttered something about checking the coaches in the caravan, and spurred his ostrich-horse away.

Aang looked the most concerned out of the three. Momo crawled up onto his head and mewed, sadly, in the direction Sokka had gone; the lemur had an odd sort of affection for the man.

"You don' gotta be tha' way, Zuko," said Aang carefully, though Zuko looked irritated. "He – he prolly 'as 'is own regrets 'bout this. There 'is sisters, y'know."

"If someone tried to buy my sister's love," hissed Zuko. "I would not allow it… no matter how she behaves."

"You speak ignorantly of the Prince," said Jeong-Jeong suddenly, but there was no bite in his voice, only the ferocious confidence of a man who knew truth and pain. "He is a worthy man, and he loves his sisters greatly… though some of them do not return this affection. He is as strong as his father, but his weakness is in his compassion."

"I'm sorry, General, but to be as strong as Fong does not impress me," he had to say. It was true. Fong was a mighty man with great influence and control, but he held no real threat, or strength, or courage, and for these reasons Zuko could not fear him.

Jeong-Jeong clicked his tongue and beckoned another man to take his place at the front, turning out to check on his soldiers, and the camel-leaders.

"I do not speak of Fong," he said shortly, and galloped away before Zuko or Aang could speak another word.

* * *

"I'm bored."

"I know you're bored, Toph."

"Yeah, but you're not _doing_ anything about it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. Entertain me."

Katara sighed exasperatedly, but she was craving entertainment too, and at least Toph was making conversation. Their position in the caravan was in the midst, closest to Hama's, as they were Fong's daughters and needed the most protection. By some odd fluke, as well as the annoying complaints of their fat sisters, Katara and Toph had managed a separate carriage apart from Ravi, Vulha and Inau – not that they were unhappy. In fact, when the news was broken to them they practically leapt into the air and hugged each other for joy. Song was in coach with them, as their personal servant, and she was the absolute envy of all the other servants in all the other coaches.

She had just picked up a make-up pot and was studying the red color in intrigue. She had hardly ever held such expensive substances before, but Katara and Top both hated make-up.

"I could paint your face, to look a rabbit-mouse," suggested Song, and Toph scoffed.

"Ha! That'll be the day."

Katara and Song only had to exchange a glance to know how they would amuse themselves for the next few minutes.

"Hey…Hey–!"

Katara screeched with laughter as she grabbed Toph around the waist, pulling back into the seat as Song leapt up, her fingers covered in the red paint, ready to smear and stick than blotch the gooey stuff on the blind earthbender's face. Toph screeched, and laughed, and yelled, all to no avail; Song had already drawn whiskers on her right cheek, and a weird little moon-shaped thing on her forehead.

"You jerks – you, you – yellow-bellied –"

"Watch it Toph," said Katara, and suddenly she adopted a haggard, horrible wheezing, an imitation of Hama's terrible witch-voice. "Come _on_, you need to look _presentable_ for your husband, watch out or I'll _bloodbend you –_"

"Ah! Katara's a witch!" Toph finally broke free from his sister's grasp and stumbled into Song, who was laughing irresistibly. "Come on Song! Let's get her!"

"Can't!" Katara rasped in a wonderfully dark impression of the bloodbender. "I've got you both! Do a tap-dance! Fetch me a kitten-bear! Get me a pomengranate!"

"Oh right away, _Ravi_," said Toph, and instantly Katara was screeching in astonishment and leaping at her sister again, taking down Song in the process. Toph's niqab flew off and her poofy black hair spilled out all over the floor, much to her surprise.

"Sorry,_Inau_, did I mess up your hair?" Katara said, and Toph laughed, located the paste bowl after a few tries, and then leapt at Katara, hopefully aiming a handful of make-up at her face. It missed, and hit Song straight in her own serving-dress. In fake anger she stamped a spoiled foot and pouted:

"Selfish brats! You ruin my dress!"

In one accord Toph and Katara both shouted: "_Vulha_!"

They could no longer breathe for laughing, and all ended on the floor of the coach holding their stomachs (the commotion probably confused a few of the guards outside, who heard nothing but screeching and giggling – but as long as no one called for help, they remained indifferent). By the time they had all regained some composure, Katara had to pick up the red paste, curious as to how the thick, sticky, staining stuff could ever be put on your face.

"What is this even for, Song?" she asked, giggling. Toph's laughs had faded and she was sitting cross-legged on the floor now.

"Not sure. Think you put it on lips, maybe? Yeah – little red on lips."

"It'll look fantastic under a niqab," Katara replied, and they both laughed again at the absolute absurdity of the idea; no one would see their lips anyway! But Toph was quiet where she sat, and when their laughter died down, she said, softly.

"I guess we will have to start wearing it, though, soon, won't we?"

The caravan became very quiet. Song placed the lid back on the make-up and put it back into the corner where she had found it. When she returned, she sat down on her knees, eye level with them both, and took each of the girl's hands in one of her own.

"Trust the Prince, my friends. He has plan already."

* * *

"Why do you care where Zuko is?"

Azula turned into the mirror and shook out her hair. The party had ended long ago, and she had just finished putting on a stunning performance.

"Oh _sir – _sir it was _horrible_– you should have _seen_ him, oh the horrible masked man, he – he – _oh_he _killed_ them, Jan and Onra and – and _oh_! The Lord Kadar! He's – he's – mercy, spirits, _mercy_ –"

They had released her, allowing the dark-haired man with the unfitting suit and wild eyes to escort her into the carriage. The savage smile did not light his face until they were well on their way home, when he withdrew his bloody blades to clean them. When Azula kissed his ear, and hissed dark things to him.

"All in good time, my warrior," he was in her bedroom, sitting in a chair in the corner, the window open in case her Uncle decided to stop by for another goodnight.

"No," his eyes were dark and fierce again, and though his bloodlust was for the moment satiated, it did not mean he could not still perform. "I'm not playing this fucking game. You used me tonight – for all I know you were just having vengeance on a gossip."

He had one of his tiger-hook swords in hand, and though she could firebend like a fiend, he was far to valuable to her to damage this way. So Azula put a hand on his tense, unfriendly arm and smiled. Her fang-filled, terrible smile.

"Very well," there was no fear in her voice, or if there was she hid it. "How greatly do you hate the earthbenders who spit at your feet, the nobles who call you bastards?"

"More than heaven could hate hell," he spat it. Warily, she withdrew from him, going to rest against her dresser. The light from the candles in the room illuminated her, reflected in the mirror – and had it not been for the twisted darkness in her golden eyes, she may have been a goddess of light herself.

"How would you like to see them cast down?" her words were like honey from her lips, and she spoke with special softness. "How would you like to have your final vengeance? This corrupted Chosen King, and his old lying Advisors – what would you do if you could cast them down, reveal all their lies to the world?"

Jet was motionless. His mind and heart fought against each other, blind with the desire for vengeance and for justice, but hesitant all the same. He knew she lied, he knew she lied – how many times had she lied to Zuko, to her own friends and family? How many times had this golden-eyed snake betrayed those closest to her? It rent him, and he fought; but she had put fuel to his fire again, and she knew it.

"…Would you like that?" she whispered.

Jet waited another moment before approaching her, before looming like a caged demon over her sparkling golden eyes, before raising the hooked sword to her throat as a quiet threat. But it was not so threatening to Azula anymore.

"What does that have to do with Zuko?" he snarled. Azula smiled, brushed his sword aside, and began to take off her earrings.

"Nothing, my warrior. It has to do with Acchai. Now, will you help me with my necklace?"

He didn't hear it, for she was distracting him again; but the hiss of a snake was on her tongue.

* * *

It was nightfall when they reached the Pass of Jin.

The air was cooler, a relief to the excruciating heat of the day, but it was hardly a comfort to Zuko. As uncomfortably hot as it was, so close to the Desert, he found far less joy in the cold depths of the night. He had slept on the hard, broken earth of the shrubland for nearly a week now, but the roughness of the ground and the prodding rocks did not bother him – only the odd, suffocating cold that overcame the land as quickly as the light came at sunrise. He was known, in fact, to sleep dangerously close to the fires at night, and the other soldiers found this somewhat amusing.

The coaches were all being opened now, as the most untrustworthy of the soldiers were herded far away to be night-watchers. This was the ladies evening walk, a daily ritual where the women, safely escorted and assembled together in a reserved place (usually under the supervision of both Jeong-Jeong and Hama) were allowed to chat and stretch their legs. It was always a dangerous affair, for not only were many men enticed by the sight of all these foreign beauties, but there was always the chance of a runaway. Hama's eyes, however, missed nothing, and Jeong-Jeong would never allow his men an inch, and so for the fifth evening this ritual had passed without incident

Except, of course, for Aang, who haunted the edges of the circle of soldiers, hoping to catch another glimpse of Fong's daughter, Katara.

"Come on, Zuko!" he begged, for the fifth time so far. "I ju's gotta try, jus' one more time, ta' try an' see 'er –"

"I don't see why I have to go with –"

He couldn't protest. Aang was already pulling him along, excited despite the day's long walk. A great, fearsome wind was blowing from the south and it was causing Zuko a lot of unwanted discomfort. He had no interest in Aang's blue-eyed princess, and he found it quite annoying when Aang managed to drag him to the edge of the ring of warriors, sternly encircling the girls.

They glared briefly at the two, but they were used to soldiers with prying eyes and disregarded them. Zuko hated to be seen as a peeping-tom, but Aang didn't seem to care.

"You see 'er? You see 'er anywhere, Zuko?"

The girls were all beautiful and laughing in their multi-colored saris, entrancing in the dim light of dusk. A fire had been lit in the middle of it and they were dancing around it, playing with theirs shawls like they were tribal dancers.

"No, Aang…come on, let's go –"

"You two?" suddenly Sokka was there, walking towards them with a muted fire in his eyes. "What are you two doing here?"

"Uh, nothin', Sokka, we was jus' –"

Luckily Momo took that moment to jump at Sokka and steal his bladed boomerang, flying up into the sky with a mewing laugh, the weapon clutched in his feet. Enraged, Sokka drew his war club and tore off after the creature, cursing horribly.

"I swear to every spirit, I'll kill that _fucking lemur_ –"

"Sokka! Sokk don' –" Aang chased after him, both amused and horrified, to stop the slaughter of his pet. At that moment, a girl within the ring of soldiers, a girl wearing a blue sari, lost the grip she had on her shawl and it floated past the guards, who hardly thought to regard it.

It landed beside Zuko's boot, but he was ready to ignore it as easily as the guards had. He just wanted to get out of this cold and go back to his sleeping roll, and eat his bread, and think about Mai…

"Please, sir, if you will, my shawl…"

He turned to see her standing there, the blue-eyed girl Aang was so taken with, looking at him imploringly from above her dark niqab.

"What?" he asked, not hearing her. For some reason she seemed to pause, as though remembering who he was, or recognizing the scar on his face. For whatever reason, she seemed to heighten her attempts to speak to him, pointing at her fallen shawl. It was within reach, now, if only she would step beyond the soldiers; but she beckoned for Zuko's aid instead.

"Oh…yeah, of course."

He picked it up and handed it to her, noting all the while how fixed her eyes were on him. He almost thought she brushed his hand when taking the shawl from him.

"Thank you, _mitra-Sahadev_."

He was reminded, painfully, of Mai. But this women said the word differently, in a kinder, gentler way than ever his distant love had. He did not know whether to love or hate it.

"You are welcome, lady."

"I am called Katara," she said quickly, as he turned to leave. Zuko, startled at her introduction, turned and bowed to her, aware that the eyes of the soldiers were upon him.

"Yes…Lady Katara. Have a good night."

"And you."

And with that she turned and disappeared again into the throng of whirling, colorful women. Zuko remained a moment, feeling oddly perplexed at the confrontation; then he turned and retreated to his own campsite, aware that Aang would be there, eating his beans with a ruffled, but still living, Momo.


	13. Meeting

Ok. First of all I want to thank badculture for helping me out with the line-break issue, to change scenes. I had to change browsers to get it to work is all, cause I'm silly. Thanks dude!

Second of all, if any chapters previous to this one seemed at all rushed, or incomplete, it is because I really, really, _really_wanted to get to these next two chapters. I had so much fun writing these chapters. If you ever have the desire to leave a review, please leave it for these two chapters. But I suck at leaving reviews myself, so don't worry about it if you don't want to.

As a last odd little thing, I couldn't resist at least attempting to draw my version of General Jeong-Jeong. I had to. It was killing me. I needed to draw him with the sweet mole-bear hood.

If you want to see him, you can go to the Deviant Art, and type in AU General Jeong Jeong.

* * *

The Pass of Jin was no narrow corridor through the mountains, or tunnel under the rock; it was more a small, deserted valley cut between two sides of _Aka-Yamas_, the earth and sand dyed red with the hundred years of bloodshed that have ravaged this cursed Pass. In older times, to brave this road would merit fear of robbery, of arrows shot from hallows in the distant cliffs, and slaughter in the party – but there was no such fear now. All manner of men had abandoned the Pass of Jin, long ago. They left only whispers behind them, rumors of face-stealing spirits, and nameless terrors in the dark.

The ground was bare, cracked and torn, still unhealed from ancient wars; nothing grew here, not even the malevolent briars and thorns of the shrub land, and no birds dared to nest in the far crags of dead rock. Ghosts haunted that place, lingering in the dark corners of the cliffs, in low moans beneath the sand.

No one spoke as they walked. Not even the most giggling, chatting ladies dared to utter a word as they braved the dreaded Pass; Jeong-Jeong's face was fiercer and more savage than ever, but he spoke not a word, driving any straying men into their rightful places using only a flash of his eyes, horrible beneath the fanged countenance of his mole-bear hood.

The silence was suffocating. Zuko felt it around him like a thousand staring eyes, and it made his blood rise nervously. Aang was not speaking, only walking along with Momo curled up in arms, big leathery ears down with fright.

"Somethin' bad 'ere," Aang would have said to Zuko, if he had the courage to speak at that moment, turned timid by the pressing silence around them. "Somethin' bad 'ere. Don' think we should'a came this way, Zuko…"

Only the sky-bison made any noise, wailing now and then in its cage at the end of the procession, too big and wild to worry about such a petty things as ghosts.

It took only the space of about two hours to make the pass, but to get the inability to get the entire caravan through at once slowed their pace. The camels and the goat-mules had to come in behind the coaches, and a main company of soldiers was left for last. Out of pure coincidence, Zuko happened to be in the rear that day, and he and Aang were to see the Desert already scarred with the length of the caravan; but this made it no less magnificent.

It was a terrible masterpiece. The earth glowed crimson red as far as the eyes could see, patterned only with the passions of the wind, for no footstep lasted long in the sifting sands. Even from this far distant Zuko could tell the heights of the dunes that awaited them, the moving mountains they would cross: four hundred, five hundred, seven hundred feet they rose, guardians of the wastes, of the burned and thirsting dead. There was no form to them, as there was form in the faces of a cliff; only the rising, sightless steeps of sand, grand and terrible in their simplicity. The sun hung like breathing fire above it all, its own personal domain on earth, where its flame could scorch unchecked.

But perhaps the greatest and most fearsome thing about it was its infinity. As far as Zuko's eyes could look there was no hint of distant mountains, no sign of life or change in scene. There was no end in sight, and it struck Zuko finally why the Pass of Jin had been so quiet.

This was the entrance to hell, and once entered there was no chance in leaving again.

Jeong-Jeong unclasped his mole-bear cloak as the sun settled at its highest point above them. He had thinned the mighty fur as best he could, but it was a huge, coarse, heavy thing, and to wear it in the Desert would be his death. His own men had already packed away their own cloaks, and as Zuko stood captivated at the edge of the sands, Sokka galloped back to him – and for some reason he was wearing a black shawl around his head.

"Wrap this around your head," he tossed another black clothe to Zuko, and then to Aang. They were moist, an when Zuko took a second look at Sokka he realized his own was wet too.

"Don't wait, it's noon already," said Sokka, and he was already turning his ostrich-horse back to the front. "Keep your heads protected from the sun. Do this and you will live."

The line of the caravan was already moving across the Desert, coaches like dark beetles on the red sand, camels like oddly-packaged ants. The men themselves all bore the resemblance of bandits now, their faces hidden under their head-wraps, swords and clubs strung loosely at their sides.

The odd thing was, no one in the procession had taken off any clothing, save for unnecessary burdens like their cloaks. In the wrathful heat of the Desert, lifting like waves from the burning sands, it was highly unwise to expose your skin to the torment of the sun. Aang was bare below his knees, and without shoes, an impressive feet over the terrain of the shrub land – but now Jeong-Jeong gave to him boots, of real leather and thick, so that despite their large, awkward size, Aang adored them, and thanked the silent General profusely for the gift.

They pressed on until nightfall, the coach-rhinos complaining all the while; but they were hardy creatures, and could store water as well as any camel, and so they were ignored.

For the first time, when the caravan stopped, the women were not allowed out in a group. Each carriage was taken separately, and the women escorted on a small walk by Jeong-Jeong or Sokka, and several other men. Hama came out for some groups, but not for others. She had retired to her coach to brood and prepare for her presentation of the women as Masabi.

"S'weird, ain't it? Sleepin' on this stuff?" Aang said, rolling over for the fourth time on his sleeping roll, which was resting in the loose sand. "Feels's like it's gonna get everywhere…"

"By the end of this, we'll be used to it," Zuko mused, then put his hands behind his head. "And you shouldn't have left last night. You're princess dropped her shawl."

"Wha'?" Aang leapt up, sending Momo flying irritably from the end of his roll. "When? Wha' she say? She – she didn' mention at all, did she?"

"She –" Zuko knew she hadn't, that she had only said her name and fled back into the circle of women – after she had so oddly and inexplicably beckoned him to get her shawl. " – she asked me to say greetings to you on her behalf. And she told me her name."

That excited Aang, and Zuko purposefully withheld it from him.

"You bast'rd, Zuko, tell me 'er goddamn name –"

"Nah. I don't think I will."

"You mother –"

He tried to punch Zuko, but Zuko evaded him easily and in an instance had his arm around the airbender's head, who protested loudly and somehow airbended his way out – and suddenly they were back in_Balda Haram_, and they were scuffling and wrestling as all the boys from the bar had scuffled and wrestled, readying themselves for the street fight later on.

Zuko, of course, eventually told Aang Katara's name, who instantly declared it the name of a goddess and the most beautiful word on earth, and afterwards went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Zuko went to sleep wondering why the woman had been so keen to talk to him, and how much sand would get into his sleeping roll. He had to admit, if only to himself, that the girl was impressive.

It was the first night he did not think of Mai.

The next morning, the dawn signaled a wave of heat that washed over the caravan like a dry tsunami, fierce and suffocating. Before the sun even fully rose from behind the horizon, Zuko was sweating, and Aang was burning up; but saddest of all was Momo, burdened with his thick fur, who, overheated and uncomfortable, dragged Aang into the shade of a rhino-coach, despite the unfriendly looks they received from the guards.

They walked as they had walked previously, through the shrub lands, with quite dignity and purpose; but now there was veiled danger and an ominous whisper on the boiling horizon. Jeong-Jeong knew it, and Sokka knew it; they had felt the pressing heat and madness of the Desert before, and they knew its deadly secrets in the sands.

Aang was, ironically, the one who first confronted this looming fear, though he himself did not realize it. Every now and then the company came upon a small bush, or a single palm tree, fighting for life in the dead, dry heat of the Desert, drinking life from the waters hundreds of feet below. It gave Zuko a strange feeling to see them alive and fighting amongst the dead wastes, but there was no sign of an oasis to be found, and he began to wonder how long their water-skins would last.

Aang, however, was ecstatic every time he saw these signs of life. The endless, bleak expanse of the Desert could not dull his enjoyment of a single blooming fire-flower bush, or a tall brown palm tree bending in the wind. He annoyed Zuko several times by routinely pointing out a green or red plant, sturdy and defiant against the rising heat of the red Desert.

He came across one such plant suddenly, as they came down the ridge of a particularly monstrous sand dune. Excited that it was another fire-flower bush, he practically catapulted himself to it with his airbending (he had taken to collecting these Deser-flowers, hoping to somehow give them to Katara).

What he found was a withered, dried up piece of brush, looking as though the sun had scorched all the life from it. The camels and goat-mules passed on behind him, and Zuko was already further up ahead with a goat-mule leader they had befriended named Teo. The boy was only a bit older than Aang and limped badly in one leg, but he was able to keep up with the caravan for the most part, and he talked to Zuko for long hours about the trials and dangers of the Desert, and the raiders on the road.

Aang enjoyed Teo's company too, but he was too busy studying the dead bush now, perplexed for some inexplicable reason, breaking off a branch or two to study it more closely.

"…Odd thing, ain't it?" he muttered to himself.

"Why'd you stop, Aang?" Sokka halted his ostrich-horse a little ways away from Jeong-Jeong, who was examining the process of the caravan. He had come around the dune to see Aang staring at a dead bush, and wondered if the boy was suffering any heat-sickness.

"This bush, 'ere," said Aang, clear-eyed and well, though obviously confused. "Ain't like no thing I ever saw, Sokka."

"Aang, really, this isn't a nature hike –"

"S'not what I mean, y'know tha'," said Aang, a little annoyed. "Look at it. Don' look righ'. S'all dead, the branches are all dried up, an' the roots –"

"Aang," Sokka was getting a little exasperated now. "In the Desert, a lot of things dry up –"

"But it ain't jus' dried up, Sokka!" Aang raised his voice a little, and Jeong-Jeong looked over. "It ain't done it naturally, anyhow. S'not like it dried up from the roots, or down from the leaves – it jus' _all_ dried up, at the same time. Like all the life jus' got sucked out a' it, at once."

Sokka's ostrich-horse clicked it's clawed foot loudly beneath Sokka's silence. There was a distant look in his eyes that Aang did not see, being too preoccupied with the plant. Sokka cast a glance at Jeong-Jeong, who was just near enough to hear the conversation. Something dark and silent flashed between them.

"You should get back in line with the caravan, Aang."

"Hell. Fine. Don' matter anyhow, righ'?" Aang grumbled miserably, before running up to catch Zuko, Momo fluttering happily about his head.

Jeong-Jeong and Sokka said nothing, and parted ways in a terrible silence.

That evening, the guard was doubled, and Jeong-Jeong stood a watch all night.

* * *

Katara was pacing the coach floor. 

This rather annoyed Toph, who made a point of saying so, and worried Song, who was crouched on the floor, sowing up a hole in one of the girls dresses.

"Katara?" asked the barbarian girl cautiously. "You have something on the mind?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. A fire was burning in her eyes, reflected from the memory of white flame and fighting bodies, a horribly scarred face and a boy with airbender tattoos. But most all there was the scar, and the man beneath Jeong-Jeong's sword – the man who cut the General.

"Song?" she turned suddenly and took the woman's hands in hers, imploringly. "– Song I need you to do something for me, please?"

"Anything, Katara," said Song, but there was a veiled uncertainty in her voice.

"Really? Because Song, I – I want to ask you to do something that – that'll seem… odd."

Toph sat up and grinned hugely as Song grew more uncomfortably confused with her friend's behavior. She had not been acting quite the same ever since they left Al-Abhad.

"Oh, this is gonna get us in trouble, isn' it?"

* * *

Zuko was sitting around a fire with Teo that night, as Aang was off with Sokka to visit the sky-bison at the end of the caravan. Aang had never seen one before, and would probably never hope to again, and in fact the sky-bisons were so rare now they were simply considered imaginary in most parts of the world – legends of their flights was on the lips of widows and old hags, and the reality of their being had long passed into myth. 

Song did not like the idea, but she loved Katara, and she knew that once the waterbender's mind was set on something it could not be changed. In friendship to her, Song was willing to do this absurdly idiotic thing, despite the deep trouble they could all be in, in a few hours time.

She came upon Teo and Zuko, laughing about something and shoveling food into their mouths like true barbaric men. Song thought it all looked rather disgusting and masculine.

"Excuse me, sir," she startled the two, who turned around to face her still chewing. Not knowing who she was referring to, Teo and Zuko looked at each other instantaneously, then back to her, as if to signal her to pick one. Song sighed inwardly at the stupidity of men.

"Sir," Song said, bowing her head respectively to Zuko, who was sitting closer to her than Teo, though just as confused as him by the woman's presence. "My mistress bids you to follow me. She wishes to speak to you."

Zuko stopped chewing his rice and looked at the girl like she was insane._Who _wanted to speak to him?

"Excuse me?"

"My mistress, the Lady Katara," said the servant, and she seemed a little annoyed at his slowness. "She wishes to speak to you, and you must come quickly."

"I – I don't think –" but Song had already taken his arm, and led him away from the light of his fire, leaving Teo rather confused and alone by the fire, his mouth still full of food.

She pulled him briskly away from the main companies of men, towards where the coaches sat. But she did not go to the coach of her mistress; ducking behind a low sand dune, she brought him around to a deserted little splotch of land, shielded from accusing eyes, and dark with the descent of night.

And there was Katara, satnding in the dark in her sari and niqab, and suddenly Zuko's blood went cold. Song inclined her head to her, whispered something that sounded quick and reprimanding in her ear, and then left to go stand watch – or so Zuo imagined.

"Good evening, _mitra-Sahadev_ Zuko," Katara said calmly, as though completely unaware of the danger of their position, which of course unnerved Zuko.

"Good evening, Lady Katara," said Zuko, and the nervousness in his voice was plain as day. "Why have you requested me?"

She seemed a little disappointed in the blunt bewilderment of his statement, in the total lack of excitement. Or maybe his horrible scar and

"I – I wanted to compliment you, on your duel. Your duel with the General – at Al-Abhad?"

"Oh – thank you," Zuko thought it highly odd that she would seek him out for such a thing, but decided it meant no harm. But he was also acutely aware that he was alone with the Lord Fong's daughter, and Sokka's sister, and that he'd probably be beaten on spot if he was caught.

"How did you learn to firebend so well?" she asked.

"My Uncle taught me much," he said quickly, and then felt a shock of pain go through him when he realized how much he missed the old man.

"I am a waterbender myself," she stated, stepping closer to Zuko, who had not the sense to excuse himself. What had Aang said? Something about her eyes.

"No one has ever really trained me, but I do know a little," she continued boldly, and the fear of discovery Zuko had possessed, initially, was beginning to slip away as he listened to her.

"It's good you know a little," encouraged Zuko. "You have the right to know how to defend yourself."

Her eyes lit up. She fiddled for a moment with her sari, as though trying to hide how pleased she was with his words. He was probably the one and only man, besides Sokka, who had ever shown her respect, or at least wanted her to gain respect for herself.

"Thank you for saying that," she said, and even with the niqab he could tell she smiled. "Most men would tell me it is a shame for a woman to bend. That I should be a healer only."

"It is a gift, to be able to heal," said Zuko; he had heard fantastic stories like this, seen a waterbender heal before, and he knew the rarity of the gift. "You should not underestimate it. But if you enjoy bending as well, you should do so – and let no man keep you from it."

She must have smiled very widely beneath her niqab, for her eyes glittered and she had to look down, undeniably pleased with his words.

"You make me smile, Zuko of Agni," she said it so gently that even Zuko, beaten by his harsh life and strangled with his affections for Mai, felt his blood rush at her words. But at the same time he became aware of his danger again, and he was pressing his luck as it was.

"Yes…yes, well it is good to talk to you, Lady Katara, but I must go –"

"Wait – please," she put her hand on his arm, abruptly, and it sent a chill up Zuko. Whether the chill was pleasant or unpleasant he could not tell. "How long have you known the Avatar?"

"…What?"

The question made Zuko stumble awkwardly. Katara continued without hesitation

"The Avatar. Your airbender friend. How long have you known him?"

"He's – he's not the Avatar. He's just an airbender. Why would you think…"

Her eyes were wide with surprise now, and suddenly he was no longer comparing her to the memory of Mai – only watching the crystal blue as it was watching him, captivated and confused.

"Oh…" she was suddenly crestfallen, and the sight was miserable. "I…I was sure…my brother…"

She looked horribly disappointed, but Zuko, ignoring the impulse to show compassion,

"You're brother what –?"

Zuko's heart stopped.

The instant agony of it shocked him so badly that he would have cried out in fear, regardless of the pitiful nature of the sound – except that his windpipe had closed, and when he tried to raise his hands to hold it he found them frozen at his sides.

Hama walked quietly out of the dark, gently twisting her withered hand so that Zuko turned slowly to face her, feet dragging on the ground. Her voice was the rattle of death.

"Oh my, you _are_ in trouble, young man."

Zuko floated, terrified, feet hardly touching the earth, his heart fiercely trying to pump but failing. The shock was ripping up Zuko's brain and his entire body felt strained and squeezed and on fire. He tried to breathe, but his lungs would not expand, and the terror in his golden eyes was black as death.

"_No!_ Mistress, please no –" Katara fell down at Hama's feet and grabbed the woman's sari, full of panic and despair, begging her to release the man. "Please, please, he has done nothing, please –"

"I could rip the blood from your veins, boy," she hissed, ignoring Katara's pleased. "I could tear out each drop through your skin. I can make the blood in your heart stop. I can make you drink it, boy."

She turned her hand ever so slightly and blood welled up in Zuko's throat. Numb with agony and terror, he tried to gag, to choke on the rivers of red pouring into his mouth, but could not even do so much as that. As the red lines began to well up over his lip Song came darting around the corner, brought by Katara's terrible cries.

"Katara! Hama you foul –"

With one harsh sweep of her other hand, Hama caught the servant girl and Song went rigid as a board. Katara screamed, torn between leaping for Song and trying to defend Zuko, who had finally begun to choke violently on the rivers of red Hama was seeping into his throat. The blood was pouring down in streaks across his chin, staining the collar of his shirt.

"Oh god, oh spirits – oh please, Hama, please, beat me, lash me, but leave them , please –"

The witch continued to ignore her. Song struggled and breathed Katara's name in strangled fear.

At the last moment Hama smiled him, and the satanic glitter in her eyes brightened. Zuko's eyes rolled slowly into the back of his head and his gagging ceased.

"Next time I will re-arrange your insides, boy."

She released Zuko, who fell to the ground coughing violently, spilling crimson onto the sand. Katara tried to reach him but Hama's gnarled hand was on her arm like a vice.

Then a trumpet of the watch-guard sounded over the hills, and a roar of alarm went up.


	14. Bandits

This is a somewhat bloody chapter, to warn you in advance. Thank you for all the reviews, too :D

* * *

Even Hama was surprised by the sound, and breaking character she turned, releasing Katara's arm in fear of the message in the trumpet. Her eyes were wide and wilder than ever beneath her dark grey niqab, but no one noticed this – nor did they notice her vanish, speeding away into the dark night, back towards the caravan.

Katara had fallen down instantly beside Zuko, who had collapsed to the ground, unable to speak, for there was still blood in his throat. Her hands moved passed the side of his face, and in some distant way he realized she was waterbending whatever remained out of his lungs.

"I am so sorry, Zuko," her niqab was a little askew, but he did not look up to see any part of her revealed face. "The hag, I swear, I swear on the Moon Spirit herself –"

"Get back to your coach," Zuko had to choke it out, throat screaming sore, mouth sour with the taste of blood. He had no idea what Hama had done to him, only that it felt worse than death, worse than any form of foul torture, and he had never been so terrified before. "Get back to your coach, Katara."

He said it – not so much because he knew what danger the trumpets warned of, and sought to protect the Lord's daughter from the enemy – but because he would soon vomit from the foul, moist, bitter-sweet taste in his mouth, the dregs of his own blood that Hama had forced him to drink.

Katara hesitated, but Song, ever vigilant and daring for her friend, took her lady by the hand and dragged her from Zuko, despite her protests. There was a scared look in the waterbender's eyes that was not caused by the trumpet sound.

Almost as soon as they were out of sight, Zuko convulsed and vomited, and it came up red. If he had not been so shaken and weak from Hama's attack he may have noticed the disgusting oddity of it; his wet, red insides on the dry, red sand.

* * *

Aang was with Sokka when the trumpet sounded, very loud and close to where they stood, looking into the cage of the sky-bison. Sokka's black sword was in his hand instantly, and soldiers were running to the sound, to the aid of the Prince. The sky-bison reared and roared in its cage, smashing its massive weight against the iron bars.

"Runners with the caravan!" Sokka's voice was deafening. "Break out! Soldiers to the rear! Soldiers to the trumpet call!"

"Sokka, wha' –"

Silver rain glittered in the dark, a hundred iron-tipped arrows reflected in the light of the moon.

Sokka cut three in half before they could strike him. Two barbarian soldiers fell as they came to the aid of the watch-guard, and then they were upon them.

Aang could hardly see them, but he knew who they were: the bandits of the Desert, sandbenders, their hands and faces masked with yellow clothe. Like worms they had encircled the caravan, sifting their way beneath the sand and waiting until the caravan was quiet. A guard must have spotted one of their forms beneath the earth, and sent up the trumpet-call; they knew the ruthless laws of the sandbenders, and there was no room to question.

Now the bandits leapt from the earth like demons from the pit, and even as Sokka ran to strike down the first of them a cloud of sand exploded into the air, and the world went blind.

"_Aja_! Runners, go! Keep together!"

Jeong-Jeong had reacted instantly to the trumpet. Sandbenders were leaping from the ground at every impossible angle, twisting up the earth into shards of sharpened rocks and sending them flying at the sides of the delicate coaches. These were the trained sandbenders, but they made up only a small portion of those that now attacked.

They were called Shifters, and the barbarians knew them like they knew the demon spirits in the Pass of Jin. When the first rose up before Aang, stirred from the sand like some unholy corpse, he did not recognize it as a man. His body was completely wrapped in soiled, grey-brown clothe and fractured, leather armor that could hardly conceal the scarred portrait of his Desert-ravished body. There were spikes attached to every available inch of him, from his knees, to his broken breastplate, to his loose shoulder pads. His head and eyes were hidden behind a half-mask made of a blood-soaked, sand-panther skull, the teeth and bones of which were hanging in thick chains around his waist. His hands were completely wrapped in tight bandage, save for his fingers – and as he leapt towards Aang, teeth bared like some ravishing beast, he realized why this was so.

Two huge, gleaming, ferocious daggers, ringing as they flashed from the hidden cases beneath his arms, glared in the moonlight as the man leapt to silence Aang. The airbender avoided the man's thrust, only to throw himself back to avoid the well-aimed swing from his other arm. The blades were hardly shorter than the boy's entire arm, brilliant and terrifying beneath the Shifters hands.

They were emotionless as corpses. Two fell beside Aang, and the Shifters did not even wait to hear them hit the ground, leaping to the next target. By the blind skill and desperation, Aang maneuvered himself enough to perform a complicated airbending trick as two more joined is first attacker. Aang slammed his glider into the sand and spun about it in a confused array of motion, sending out a massive wave of wind that cleared the sandy air and sent several Shifters flying far into the Desert.

"Aang!" a Shifter had just fallen at Sokka's feet, who's black blade was stained with red. "Aid Jeong-Jeong! Get the caravan moving!"

Aang was more afraid than he had ever been in his life. The battle was raging; everywhere barbarians were sliding their blades in and out of bandits, and Shifters were slitting throats like snakes. Stones flew, without masters of purpose, through each side, crushing unintended targets. Fire flashed hauntingly beneath the full moon, and the smell of burning flesh was on the wind.

Aang cried out in despair and fear, opened his glider and leapt into the air, screaming down to the caravan. The caravan, however, needed little encouragement: the drivers of the coaches had already heeded Jeong-Jeong's call and yelled to the rhinos, who broke out and ran like their feet were wrapped in hellfire. The women within were screaming, piercingly, as the coach-guards drew their bows and clubs and hewed down sandbenders as they fled, running blindly into the Desert waste. The camels and goat-mules were moaning horribly as their leaders forced them into gallops, striving to keep up with the head of the caravan as it retreated from the fight. Two coaches had been overturned, and three women killed; a fourth was trying to run from a Shifter, who caught her easily and would have her dead in a moment.

Jeong-Jeong's white fire burned a hole into the Shifter's back. The General did not hesitate to console the terrified woman; he grabbed her arm and dragged her to the nearest coach, which was still trying to get underway with the rest of the caravan, and threw her inside. Then with a great, forceful _"Ya!_" he flashed a streak of white flame across the rhino's flanks and they broke into a painful run after the others.

Now many of the coaches had broken out, and were well on their way out of danger. The main fight was concentrated at the back of the caravan now, where the barbarians were pitting their skill against the bandits. The bandits, it seemed, had miscalculated the caravan's strength, and were beginning to retreat back into the Desert.

Aang was still on his glider, and suddenly he realized that Zuko was missing from anywhere in the fray. Catching sight of Teo, still preparing his camel, he swooped down to catch him.

"Teo!" the airbender landed close beside the boy, who was mounting his camel with difficulty. "Is bandits, Teo – where's Zuko?"

"I don't know!" Teo had to scream it over the sound of battle and screaming rhinos and fearful camel-leaders. "He left – he's somewhere, don't matter, we got to break out –"

An arrow screeched through the air and found home in the flank of Teo's camel. The beast gave a horrible scream, and Teo, still no quite on the beast, had to throw his arms around the camel's neck as it broke into a mad gallop, leaving Aang confused and scared, and without Zuko.

It was here the Aang showed his loyalty to the firebender. Several men, including the General, ordered him to leave with the caravan, but he did not. Daring his way even among the most vicious of confrontations, Aang searched through the battle for any sign of the firebender. Around him, men fell beneath sword and stone and fire, and blood was soaking the sand.

He was ready to give up hope when he saw the firebender stumbling out from behind a coach (it was Katara and Toph's coach; their driver had been shot by an arrow, and no one had come yet to take his place. The rhinos were struggling wildly against their traces, and Song was keeping them all within the overturned vehicle, praying that the General would come to find them).

"Zuko!" the airbender was by his side at once, closing his glider. "Teo said you was –"

But Aang noticed, all too suddenly and awfully, Zuko' s position; body shaking weakly and head down, coughing up vomit and blood.

He was at his side in an instance, throwing the firebender's arm over one of is shoulders, struggling to drag him away from the fight. Zuko coughed, eyes filmed but recovering, so he saw it before Aang. The airbender was struggling to help his friend, and cared little for what was going on around them.

"Aang…Aang, that coach –"

"Don' worry 'bout it, Zuko," said Aang hurriedly, trying to open his glider so they could fly out and catch up with the caravan. But Song saw them through the coach-window as they struggled away, and she saw the chance to rescue her friends.

"Help!_Mitra-Sahadev_ –"

Song burst from the coach, with Katara following. The waterbender stopped to help her sister from the coach as Zuko realized the situation with horrible clarity.

Then a Shifter killed their nearest defender, an earthbending barbarian, and leapt towards the servant-girl, demonically expressionless in the face of her scream.

Zuko reacted instinctively, the fire from his fist nearly as hot and bright as the white flame of the General. The man fell stone dead and smoking beneath his blow.

"Aang, take them!," the firebender managed, wiping the blood from his jaw. He pointed wildly to the coach. "Mount the rhinos and ride after the caravan!"

Aang knew better than to argue, and took Toph first by the hand, but she refused to follow him, clinging to her sister.

"I can't see, I can't see, oh god –"

"Don' worry, it'll be alrigh'," Aang said, and on a whim he picked her up in his arms, so that she buried his head fearfully into his shoulder, completely helpless. Song followed as he carried her to the nearest rhino, but Katara lingered for a moment at Zuko's side.

"Why are you staying? You need to go too –"

"Get on the rhinos, Katara!" he practically screamed it at her, and for a moment they stared at one another, his face fierce and angry and insistent, and her's a mask of pain. Then there was the screech of ripping earth and suddenly she screamed and pushed him to one side.

A huge, sharp chunk of stone slammed into the place Zuko had just been standing. The offending sandbender moved to remount his attack, but Katara had already opened her canteen, and he died with an ice-dagger in his heart.

Katara retreated from the man she had killed, horrified at what she had done. Zuko was already on his feet, awed by the raw power of her bending, but still adrenaline-pumped with the presence of the battle.

"No go to the rhinos, Katara, go!" this time she looked him straight in the eyes and nodded, turning to bolt to where Song was waiting for her.

Sokka was holding his left arm, wounded and bleeding, against his body when Zuko appeared beside him, kicking fire into a Shifter's face. The bandits were running from the Prince's, who's black blade was like a revenging angel's sword amongst them all. Zuko complimented him vaguely on the victory.

"They're not retreating, there's another wave coming, I just can't see them yet…" Sokka breathed, body draining from the fight.

Zuko strained his eyes to see the second wave coming down over the dunes, at the very edge of the battle. For all their ferocity, though, the Shifters and sandbenders seemed easy to dispatch, and Zuko was ready for his own confrontation.

But the second wave looked different. Their clothing was red, and covered every inch of their body, and they bore no bows or blades.

"Spirits! Spirits deliver us –" someone yelled it, high and fearful, from their right.

Zuko and Sokka both turned, just in time to see one of Jeong-Jeong's soldiers, faced masked beneath his sabre-elk hood, lift his arm to plunge his sword into a red-clothed bandit. They had come around the side of the fight, and were closing in, trying to get to the Prince.

There was dust and motion and battle and clash of steel, and somewhere Sokka was yelling "_No_!"

The full moon was glaring down on the Desert, cold and unforgiving in its brilliance.

The red bandit extended his hand, and the soldier rose suddenly into the air. Zuko didn't have time to turn his head before the bandit clenched a fist and pulled it back with one violent motion.

There was an unbearable tearing sound, and a shower of red exploded from the soldier's body. He crashed to the sand, stone dead, the blood ripped clean from his veins.

It was the first and only time there was fear in Jeong-Jeong's voice.

"_Bloodbenders_!"

His roar hit Zuko like a blow.

Sokka yelled and turned to flee. Even the Prince of the Aurora Tribe, great student beneath Jeong-Jeong, knew when he was outmatched.

Zuko hesitated, if only because Jeong-Jeong's words had so shocked him. Sokka stopped and tried to grab the firebender's arm, to drag him away, but Zuko was captivated by the devastation of the scene.

Soldiers, who could not bend, were running from the battle in droves. Waterbenders confronted the red bandits first, fighting each other for power over the other's bodies. On either hand someone would fall beneath a shower of red, and someone would come to take their place.

Hama was standing before two of the bloodbenders, wrapped in an invisible battle for dominance. The witch may have been as foul and evil as the hellfire in her eyes, but she was charged in the protection of the caravan women, and she was faithful to the task. For several moments the two red bandits moved their arms slowly, as Hama mirrored them; the veins stood out in their foreheads, and the blood rushed like fire through their veins – but it was the witch who had them in the end, and she left their drained corpses as a warning in the sand.

Jeong-Jeong was a hellfire in the night. Against three bloodbenders were squared himself, fearless and calm and brutal. They tried to capture his blood, to control him as Hama had controlled Zuko, and their skill was heightened with the power of the moon; but Jeong-Jeong was hade clothed himself in white fire, as had the firebenders around him – and through this hell-heat no bloodbender could extend their power. It scorched their souls as badly as any true flame scorched their bodies, and they faced the General hoping only for an opening in his wall of fire.

They waited in vain, for the General overcame him; this, or his tiger-stallion, loyal til death, leapt at them from the side and had them rent through and on the ground in moments.

"You fucking bastard, Zuko –" Sokka finally pulled Zuko out of his trance and threw him forwards, leaving himself unguarded. "Get back, follow the car –"

The bloodbender had him. Sokka's body rippled like a wave and blood began to seep from his skin.

Zuko roared like fire, like a faint echo of the thunders in Jeong-Jeong's voice. The bloodbender did not have time to react to the firebender before his flaming swords were out and flashing. The red bandit fell, headless, to the ground.

Sokka collapsed, his shirt soaked through with red. Zuko did not hesitate, but grabbed the Prince and slung his limp body over his shoulders, running in the direction of the caravan.

When finally Jeong-Jeong himself called for a retreat, a fourth of the party was slain. Six coaches had been overturned, lost or ransacked; seventeen girls were missing. And above this, ten camels and two goat-mules had been slain, and their provisions ruined. They had lost two weeks worth of water, and three weeks worth of food, all in one night.

His anger came instantly, as swift and unforgiving as the General himself.

"_Chiu_!_Ta ma dik_!" Jeong-Jeong roared it, more terrifying than the fury of a war-god, and everyone who heard it shook with fear. "Bring me any who ran, bring me any who lied and betrayed! Bring me any prisoners, now!"

The few Shifters and sandbenders who had been dragged from the fight, all their hands crushed and bodies beaten, were brought before Jeong-Jeong. He addressed them only with his club-sword, only with the onset of death.

This was the judgment of Acchai. This was the fury of the General.

Zuko had come into the caravan with a limp, bloody Prince slung across his shoulders. No one had questioned what happened; they took the Prince from him and laid him on the softest of their rolls. He had no visible wound to speak of, save the cut in his left arm; but he had lost so much blood, his skin was pale from lack of it.

Zuko stood watch over him, and no one debated this. The firebender had saved the Prince's life.

The caravan took refuge in the shade of a large, dusted rock formation, a rare occurrence in the Desert and a lucky find at that. It had been their only bout of good luck. Aang came to stay with Zuko and Sokka, as did Jeong-Jeong; but the General was in charge of the caravan, and could not keep watch over the Prince as other suffered, and bled, and died on their own mats.

For two days they lingered beneath the rocks, waiting for the Prince's eyes to open. On the morning of the third day, when the unforgiving sun rose in the sky, Sokka stirred. Zuko heard his first words and shuddered terribly.

"I have seen the truth, Zuko…where is the Avatar?"


	15. Escape

There were no guards near at hand when Sokka spoke. His eyes were open only in slits, and they were filmy and unseeing, tired from a two day wrestle with death. Zuko stared at him like he as seeing a ghost.

"There is no more Avatar, Sokka," he whispered finally, afraid the Prince would slip out of consciousness again. "There hasn't been one. Not for centuries."

He did not know it, but his answer was a trained response to the lessons they had taught at the Academy, in their textbooks full of lies – but he believed it, to his deepest core he believed it, because there was no other explanation. The Avatar was no myth; but he did not exist in the world anymore.

"I saw, Zuko," Sokka's voice was firmer than it was before. He turned his head slightly and looked at Zuko through misty eyes. "…I saw the truth in the darkness."

Zuko's blood went cold. He had heard someone else say that, long ago, when his cousin's body was still being laid on the funeral pyre.

"You think the world's so screwed to hell now?" Sokka was coming back to full consciousness, slowly, but there was still a dangerous tone in his voice. "You should have seen it, hundreds of years ago. It's the truth Zuko. There were nations – and war, and famine, and corruption. But there was also balance. Such a long time ago, there was peace."

"What do you mean?" Zuko's heart was beating loudly in his ears.

"I was so close to the Spirit World, Zuko," said Sokka, and the suddenly he laughed. "I never believed in the spirits! I thought it was all shit… but she was there. And she told me the truth."

"Who – who is she?" Zuko was liking this less and less.

"Yue," Sokka said instantly. "The Mistress in the Moon. She knew me. Long ago, she says, she knew me. She said that the world was full of war and strife and the balance was destroyed. She said I had to bring the Avatar before the Lords of this world – and with him, the heir of Agni."

Jet's voice came back to him, cold and haunting, and suddenly Zuko realized he didn't want to know the truth – but Sokka was already sitting up, intensely animated by the knowledge in his eyes.

"There was a war, Zuko," the Prince's voice was powerfully sharp now. "There was a war between the nations. There was slaughter among the People of the Air. The water tribes were besieged. The Earth Kingdom was overthrown, and all the world would have burned in fire. But the Avatar and the Crown Prince, they stopped the Fire Lord. That was what he called himself… Fire Lord Ozai."

An abrupt flash of pain and memory captured Zuko. Overturning tables at spring dinner, his father looming over him, clenched fists and murderous, and somewhere a knife in the dark. _I am the ruler of nations! They stole it from me, from all before me, and they will pay!_ Azula smiling terribly behind him.

"My Uncle has tried to tell me this," said Zuko slowly, but the onset of memory was making him shake. "But he – he has also told me the Avatar died in this act. And that for his sacrifice the Avatar ceased altogether."

"The Avatar died, Zuko," Sokka's blue eyes were burning holes into Zuko's golden ones. "But he did not die fighting the Fire Lord. And he did not cease to exist. Aang _is_ the Avatar, Zuko."

"No fucking way!" Zuko roared, and such anger was growing in him as he was ready to hit Sokka, if that was what it took to silence him. "Fuck you! You were near death's door, Sokka – you had a weird fucking dream! Aang isn't the fucking Avatar – the Avatar is gone!"

A cold, severe wind whistled suddenly in from the north, and even from a distance Zuko could hear the guards crying in surprise. Black shadows, unnatural in their aim and swiftness, broke down upon them, and both men leapt to their feet, hands already at their sword-hilts.

It was over as soon as it had come. The day was bright and hot again.

But fear had gripped Zuko. He would've sworn, on his own life, that a woman in white was just standing at the foot of Sokka's mat.

Sokka knew that he had seen her, and there was no more room to doubt.

"You must bring me Aang, and Toph, and Katara – and do it quickly."

Zuko did not exactly know where Sokka's sisters were; he knew, of course, that they must have eventually taken refuge in another caravan by now, perhaps with their other sisters. He had to rudely invade the privacy of three coaches (and their respective women) until one haughty girl finally told him where the two were staying. She gave him a disgusted, superior look that reminded him of Mai, and he realized he rather disliked it.

He knocked on the door of the carriage without thinking through anything, expecting the servant girl to open to him. But the person who engaged him had startling blue eyes, deep and cool as the Desert night itself. To his confusion and dismay, a startled, frightened look overcame her when she saw him.

"_Mitra-Sahadev_ Zuko," her voice was thick with anxiety. "I – I did not expect you to –"

She seemed to lose track of her words, and in an attempt to engage her in conversation again, Zuko took one step up on the carriage and attempted a smile. She looked aghast and made a move to retreat, and this further unnerved him.

"Your brother requests to see you, and the Lady Toph," he said quickly, assuming her attitude was on account of the forwardness of the visit. "As soon as possible, he says."

She heard his words and seemed to re-calculate the situation, relaxing slightly. Then she inclined her head briefly to Zuko.

"Of course. We will go at once."

"Very good," Zuko swiftly took his bow, and the turned to leave. He did it both because he needed to find Aang, and because he realized his presence was making her uncomfortable.

"Wait!"

Suddenly she was out of the coach and at his side, and he was staring at her rich, blue eyes in wonder. The crystal color in them astounded him, moved him in a way Mai's black, sweeping gaze never had; peace and strength glowed from this woman like a beacon in the dark.

She had grabbed his arm again, but he had not pulled away. Neither did she let go of him until a full moment later, after their eyes had long been locked in an inexplicable silence.

"…Please, I'm so sorry," she began, and the look on her face was melting. "You could've died, that foul witch – it was foolish of me to seek you out like that, I am so sorry for how she hurt you –"

Suddenly she seemed on the verge of crying, and Zuko (more out of panic, thinking that the distant guards would blame him for her distress) quickly placed a hand on each of her arms, soft beneath the fabric of her sari.

It was infinitely dangerous now. Zuko was very nearly holding the Princess.

Katara was startled, but she did not pull away. Zuko swallowed and let go of her, for she had stopped crying, but the moment remained in his mind.

"It was not your fault," he managed. "You – you couldn't have known. Please, I – I really don't want you worried over such a small thing."

Katara took a moment to compose herself, and then thanked Zuko for his kindness. They parted ways as amicably as they had met, on the edge of the ring of soldiers that dark knight.

Zuko couldn't help himself, and dared to look back towards her as she entered the coach. She was framed beautifully in the light of the dying sun, and it stirred something unfamiliar in his chest.

He found Aang alone, away from any guards, drawing pictures in the sand. He looked bored and dejected, and looked up brilliantly when Zuko approached. There was no emotion in Zuko's face.

"Aang, Sokka's awake… he wants to talk to you."

"Sokka's 'wake?" Aang leapt up for joy, blowing sand everywhere, and instantly coming to follow Zuko. "S'great! Was he wanna say, aye?"

Zuko couldn't handle it. It was weighing in his chest like a stone, greater and darker than any betrayal he could have imagined. He had fought beside Aang, he had defended him, they had walked this path so far together, never daring to question each other's loyalties. In Zuko's eyes, Aang had done the equal of lying to him.

"Something about you being the Avatar, I'd guess."

Aang stopped, but Zuko's eyes were on him, fierce and gold and accusing. Aang looked horrified, like a child caught cheating, but so much worse; he moved his mouth slowly, as though to form some sort of response to Zuko's statement, but he could not.

Then the airbender did something even Zuko did not expect. He turned tail and ran.

Zuko couldn't believe it, didn't even react until Aang was nearly twenty feet away. Only then did he let the confused fury enter his heart and follow after him, yelling his name into the sunset.

Aang ignored him, but Zuko was the faster runner, and against the strained pounding of his feet against the sand, Zuko finally managed to overcome him, reaching out to grab the airbender's collar.

Aang's reaction was swift and accurate; he threw his arm over Zuko's and instantly loosed his grip, throwing his boot into the firebender's abdomen. The blow stole away Zukos' breathe and sent him flying a clear ten feet across the sand. When finally, winded and stunned, he pulled himself up, Aang had unfolded his glider and was swiftly disappearing into the sky.

"Fuck –"

A soldier was standing some ways away with his ostrich-horse, looking quizzically at the airbender as he flew away; he roared and ran after Zuko when he stole the beast, taking off like a streak of dark lightning.

He did not think, at once, exactly why he was chasing Aang. Perhaps saving Sokka's life had inspired some sort of dedication in him towards the Prince, or the sight of the women in white was still affecting his judgment – but beneath it all there was apart of Zuko that knew now, beyond doubt or question, that Aang was the Avatar – and somehow the world needed him.

Aang must not have expected Zuko to follow, as he did not use an extra burst of airbending to escape the firebender, and he was flying close the sand. In fact, he was so distracted with some other inhuman terror that he did not notice Zuko until the second he opened fire.

The flame was weak enough not to harm Aang, who re-directed it anyways with a quick wave of his staff, but it did catch the wood of his glider on fire and Aang had to land, instantly, to stamp it out, lest there be any lasting damage. Zuko practically flew fromhis ostrich-horse and came straight at him, heedless of the boy's fear – but Aang was aware of him now.

"God! Leave me _'lone_ –"

A ferocious gust of wind, so narrow and concentrated it felt like a knife, flew towards Zuko. He braced and shielded himself from it, weakening its impact with a slight wall of red fire. Aang only remounted his attack, striking closer and closer to Zuko with every blow.

"Not _you_ – you leave me 'lone, why can't ya'll just leave me 'lone? Thought you was – you was – God, get the hell 'way from me, jus' _leave me 'lone_!"

His tattoos were beginning to glow faintly. Zuko had no idea what this meant, only that Aang's airbending was growing stronger with each blow, and if he did not stop the boy quick he was sure to kill the heir of Agni with on misguided attack.

So as Aang brought his hand down to slice through Zuko with an absurdly thin, powerful current of air, Zuko spun out beneath him and pushed himself up, feet first, into the air. His foot made crushing contact with the airbender's lower jaw; the glowing in Aang's tattoos ceased, and dazed he fell backwards from the force of the blow, as Zuko leapt expertly to his feet.

"Aang, look at me!" Zuko took the airbender by the shirt, while he was still stunned from the kick. "I'm still your friend Aang, so's Sokka, I've still got you're back –"

"Ta' hell with ya'!" Aang kicked him off, but thankfully did not attempt to run again, too busy massaging his jaw. "Ta' hell with ya'll!" I didn' wan' no part in this! I didn' _wan' it_!"

Zuko was about to start berating Aang, screaming injustices at him. After all the unquestioned loyalties, he was not letting Aang get away with this, with lying to him –

And then he noticed the wet, shining look in Aang's eyes, and realized the boy was crying.

"Why you think I was in th' Union, you bast'rd?" he screamed, and a tear was sliding down his cheek now, worse than blood in Zuko's eyes. "You don' know it, you don' – all I wan'ed was ta' be normal, normal as I could be, y'know? Everythin' was fine! Everythin' was damn fine! I didn' know a no Avatar, I didn' care! I didn't wan' it! They put it on me, but I nev'r wan'ed it!"

The tears kept coming, but Aang didn't seem to realize it. The calm, optimistic boy was gone, and now there was only pain, and grief, and shame. Zuko saw it like the face of a demon and recoiled, abruptly ashamed that he was so ready to beat the boy senseless.

"What are you talking about Aang?" he breathed. Aang screamed several curse words that Zuko had never heard him use, and threw his arms out violently, angrily.

"Ten years ole, an some crazy ole man comes ta' screw your life ov'r!" rorared the airbender, but he was fully sobbing now, and no longer talking to Zuko. "I ain't don nothin', 'elped me mother I did, nev'r broke no laws – an 'ere he comes ta' tell me I 'ad this damn destiny, 'ad to get the world back togeth'r! 'Ad to stop warlords and Chosen Kings – I didn' wanna believe 'im. He made me though. He took me inta' the Union and 'e put me 'fore that King and 'e said 'Ere's the Avatar!' – an they was bound ta' kill me, bound ta' kill me mother. Wha' was I gonna do? An' they 'ad 'er, they 'ad me mother in chains, an' it took me ov'r, damn thing took me ov'r –"

His voice broke, and suddenly he collapsed onto the sand. Zuko couldn't move, paralyzed with the anger and sorrow seeping from the boy.

Aang dug his fingers into the sand, regardless of how it burned, and sobbed his heart out. Zuko could say nothing, do nothing to comfort the grieving boy. At some point he came to Aang and lowered himself to his knees, sitting quietly before the Avatar as cried.

For a long time they remained there. Aang's tears hit the earth, and not once did Zuko say a word, nor reach out to comfort the boy.

He did nothing, and it was the greatest thing he ever did for Aang.

"Don' wanna be no Avatar," he muttered between sobs. "Can't do nothin' anyways. Couldn' even save 'er, me own mother…"

"Aang, your mother…she's here in Acchai somewhere, right? We can find her –"

"S'all a lie, Zuko," Aang buried his head between his knees and punched the sand. "S'all it ev'r was, was a lie. Couldn' save 'er, she was gone."

He lifted his eyes, but kept them away from Zuko, who tried, in vain, to say something comforting. They remained seated before each other for a very long time.

A passing stranger may have regarded them briefly. A scarred, dark-haired firebender with the light of Agni at his head, and the small boy with tears in his eyes, and blue arrows on his body. Their shadows grew like crooked trees in the dying sun, warped gently, seeking escape from the forms of their masters. Destiny hung above them like a cloud.

A passing stranger may have noted how familiar it all was.

Eventually, Zuko took him back to Sokka, who was waiting with Katara and Toph beneath the rock outcropping. The guards had been ordered away, and now that the Prince was on the mend, the General was busy setting up the caravan again. For the moment, they were absolutely alone.

"Hey Aang," said Sokka vaguely. Aang grinned at the Prince, but was immediately distracted by Katara, who was standing a little ways away. For some reason she was averting her eyes from the two men.

"Aang, you have not met Toph and Katara," Sokka beckoned the two sisters, who bowed politely to the airbender. Aang, still unsed to displays of respect, gave an awkward bow in return, still entranced with Katara.

"Aye, ma'am…ma'am's. Is – is good ta' meet ya –"

"Aang –" Sokka interrupted Aang's attempt at small talk. "Where's Momo?"

It was terribly odd, that is was Sokka who would ask this, seeing as he hated the little lemur with all his mortal might. Aang seemed perplexed by the question, and racked his brain until he realized something.

"He's gotta be with tha' bison, I think. Yeah. Nev'r saw 'im leave the cage when we was attack'd. You wan' me to go get 'im?"

It was obvious he was looking for an excuse to leave, to evade these people now that they knew he was the Avatar. Both Zuko and Sokka saw it, and as Sokka stopped him with his eyes, Zuko edged in a little behind the airbender, to prevent him from running again.

"No, stay here. You'll see him later –"

"What are we doing here, Sokka?" Katara was honestly confused. "What'd you want to tell us?"

"You're leaving," Sokka was looking around to see if any guards were near enough to eavesdrop. "You're leaving with Zuko and Aang. You're going to the Library."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Toph stated blandly, clinging to Katara, as she was blind upon the sifting consistency of the sand. Sokka grinned vaguely at her words.

"I know you two must have been angry with me," he said, softly. "Especially when I agreed with father, to have you sent to Long Feng. But I did it to protect you. I did it so I could watch over you, and be here when the time came. You're going to the library. Long Feng will never even look upon you."

The ecstasy that entered the two girl's faces was enough to gladden even Zuko's unsure heart. Katara gave a jovial cry and ran to embrace her brother, who cringed a little beneath her enthusiasm but hugged back anyways – he was their brother, after all. Toph copied her sister, but Sokka came to her first, knowing she was blind in the sands. The younger girl was smiling so wide she seemed ready to burst, and Aang, momentarily distracted from Katara, grinned slightly at seeing her so happy, and so unlike her usual rough façade.

"Oh, Sokka – you know where it is?" Katara asked hopefully, incredulously. Sokka shook his head, and Zuko, who had no idea what they were talking about anyway, stood back and listened quietly. Katara's bubbling attitude had arisen a warm feeling in his chest again, and he was trying desperately to subdue it.

"I don't," said Sokka, and he was looking pointedly at Aang. "But he does."

All eyes turned to the airbender, who looked positively shaken beneath their eyes. He shifted from one foot to the other, nervously, as if he wanted to deny Sokka's claim, but knew he couldn't.

"I been there, once 'fore," muttered the airbender, scratching the back of his head.

"Good," Sokka gave a friendly smile to the boy. "I've already worked out how you'll do it. Late tonight, Aang, you'll need to break open the cage holding the bison, get everyone in the saddle, and fly as fast as you can to the library. If you're out of sight by morning, they won't be able to track you –"

"You're talking like your not coming," it was the first thing Zuko had said, and it caused a ripple of anger – or maybe it was dread? – pass through Sokka. Yet when he fixed the firebender with steady, unmoving eyes, they were void of fear.

"I'm not," he stated it without emotion. "Someone has to distract the guards while you escape. Otherwise they'd shoot the bison down before it got off the ground."

"No, Sokka," Katara had said it, and there was a low ferocity in her voice. "You can't do that. Just come with us – General Jeong-Jeong will be on our side, tell him to keep the guards away –"

"No!" this time Sokka was sharp. "You cannot breathe a word of this to Jeong-Jeong. If you do he will kill us three and lock you back in your coach."

Silence fell between them all, and Zuko tried hard to understand Sokka's warning. Ever since Al-Abhad, Jeong-Jeong had seemed their friend, and ally. As vicious and bloodthirsty as the man was, as terribly scarred and brutally-minded, he respected the Prince and the Prince's friends – why wouldn't he help them escape?

"Because he is not our ally," Sokka answered Zuko without hesitation. "He is a great man, but he is a ruthless man. He was charged with leading these women to Masabi – you saw his fury at the loss to the bandits. He will not suffer two daughters of Fong to be stolen away as well."

"He respects you above Fong!" Zuko was sure of it, so sure of it. "I have seen it! I know it!"

"He may respect me, but he does not answer to me. And he has every right to kill me if he knows of this plan."

"No! I don't believe he would obey Fong above you. I've seen the way you speak to him – he is more a father to you than ever Fong was, wasn't he?"

And then he thought of Uncle. In one blind second of truth, he thought of Uncle, more loving father than ever Ozai had been. His head jolted forwards as Sokka grabbed him, cold and furious at his words.

"Jeong-Jeong killed my father," he snarled it, hand like iron on Zuko's collar. The world around them was silent and the Prince's eyes were full of old hatred. Zuko felt the danger in Sokka's rage but ignored it, for his words were ringing loudly in his ears.

"What?" his voice was weaker.

"You really think I am the son of Fong?" hissed Sokka, offended. "No. My mother hated him as much as I do, only she chose to fight him."

"What are you talking about?" Zuko breathed.

Sokka hesitated, seemed to realize that the conversation was not going in the direction he had originally intended, and released Zuko.

"Nothing. This is not the time," he hardly avoided a remounted attack from Zuko, who unwillingly decided that the Prince was probably right. This time. Slightly shaken, Sokka continued. "Now… yes, Katara, Toph – someone has to stay, and it can't be –"

"I'll stay," said Zuko instantly. Whether he said it because he deeply cared for the four lives before him, or simply because he wanted to feel useful, was up for debate. Katara raised her head and looked at him, and there was muted fire in her eyes, but she said nothing.

"Nah, Zuko, don', I'll do, I ain't worth a penny no ways –" Aang started weakly.

"No. You're the Avatar, and you know the way. You have to go," Sokka's voice was firm. "But I won't let you stay, Zuko – this was my plan, and if anyone will take the fall, it will be me."

The two men stared at each other for a moment, measuring one another's arguments, and in the end Zuko had to concede to Sokka's plan. There was no room for struggle, he knew, when lives were on the line; you obeyed or you forfeited yourself, or risked destroying the plan altogether. It was a rare thing, that Zuko knew when to fold, and when to fight.

"Aang, you'll need to say '_yip yip_' to get the bison to fly," Sokka was telling Aang, and Zuko turned to stare off into the sunset, vaguely irritated, but resigned. Katara made a move towards him, but Toph was still at her arm, and faithfully, she remained with her sister.

That night, Zuko was on edge, awaiting Sokka to come fetch him and Aang for the trip. He was pouring things over in his mind, trying to dredge up old, wise words his Uncle had taught him, trying to find any source of council that could help him. But in searching the realms of thought in his head only one thing kept surfacing, wonderfully beautiful but also slightly annoying.

Eyes as blue as the sky, deep as night. He couldn't get rid of them, and they persisted beneath his eyelids, hauntingly lovely and dangerous.

He began to question his faithfulness to Mai. Was he allowing her memory to become so distant that he was replacing her with this woman of Acchai? No; he could still see her plain as day, pale, perfect skin framed beneath the infinite shadows of her hair, dark eyes glaring down at him from her pedestal. He could still imagine her perfectly – but where was the rapt adoration, the loyalty, the love? He turned irritably on the sand, angry that he was tossing her affections aside, and swore to himself never to border on such unfaithfulness again.

But the blue eyes persisted, even until Sokka came for them, and he readied himself for night ahead. She was there, too, but he could hardly see her in the dim light, hidden beneath the niqab.

They said nothing, passing quietly by the guards, as though Sokka and two soldiers were accompanying his sisters on a night stroll. Sokka had chosen the precise moment when Jeong-Jeong was at the head of the caravan, ready to go at first light, despite their depleted supplies and the poor condition of the men themselves.

They would have minutes, seconds to do what Sokka had asked them; as soon as Aang broke the lock, they'd have to drag the beast from the cage, and the four would scramble into the saddle. The soldiers would be upon them in a moment, and only Sokka's distraction would yield them any time to spare.

Zuko paced silently beside Sokka. Something was growing in the back of his mind.

He was not greater than any of those he walked beside. He had never imagined himself to be. Heir of Agni meant nothing in his ears, in his heart – he had said it to Jet before. Jet, who had taught him how class was nothing, how you should judge a man on his actions and the strength of his convictions, not on the depth of his pocket-book.

It would've killed him to see Jet now. Ravished and changed from the pressures of fugitive life, a toy to Azula's will.

Nonetheless the feeling was in him again. The faith, the trust, the dedication of _Balda Haram_. That you protect the ones you run with.

When they neared the cage, Momo, who had developed a strange kinship with the massive beast, was sleeping on the bison's great back. When he saw Aang he flew at once to the airbender's shoulder, joyful and chirping, regardless of how nervous the boy seemed. Aang silenced the lemur with a hiss that made the poor creature's ears flop down quizzically. The airbender was close enough to the lock now, Toph and Katara arm and arm and ready to leap into action, Sokka at the head with his hand on his sword-hilt.

Zuko knew what he had to do. It was a dark idea, but Sokka was needed more than he, and he knew it.

As soon as the lock broke, a guard let out a call, but it was to late; already Aang had scooped up Toph, flew clear up and over the bison's head, and set the earthbender down upon the saddle. Zuko's hands were still on Katara's waist as he lifted her up, fighting the adrenaline in his veins, as the monstrous beast lumbered thankfully from the iron cage. Aang was seated just behind the bison's horns, and already the reins were in his hands. The guards were feet from them, blades and clubs drawn, confused as all hell but knowing, in the depths of their bones, what their duty was.

"Get on! Go!" roared Sokka, and he had drawn his black blade, so that it glistened in the moonlight.

But Zuko did not get on the bison. As Sokka turned to confront the guards, he punched the Prince, hard and fast, in the back of his head, knocking the man out cold.

Before Aang could come down from the bison's reins, or either of the two sisters could cry out in alarm, he threw Sokka into the massive saddle, and screamed out "_Yip Yip_!"

The bison shot like a rocket into the sky, roaring joyfully as the wind rushed past its horned head, regardless of the beckoning of Aang, who was gesturing wildly towards Zuko. In moments the gigantic beast was no more than a splash of white again the sky; arrows flew like streaking birds from the hands of the guards, but none found its mark. Zuko's red flame was bright and terrible in the night, but his blasts did no more than incinerate the arrows and damage several bows. It was not his aim to kill these men, only to protect those friends he cherished, fiercely protective until the end.

When he finally thought they were far enough away, safely hidden in the darkness of the night, he stopped his attack and let the guards come, dropping to his knees. He thought he heard Katara scream, dimly, from the distant horizon.

Zuko did not struggle when the barbarians overcame for him. He confessed without protest, and allowed them all to beat him, as was their right, before bringing him before Jeong-Jeong. His nose was pouring blood, face swelled and bruised, when he stumbled down at the General's feet.

The General examined him for a long time. His face was ravished with the light of the savage moon, and Zuko dare not look up to behold him, lest he faint from the coupled onset of fear, and the feeling of blood dripping across his lips.

"You confess to releasing the sky-bison, and sending off two of the Lord's daughters, along with their sick brother, into the Desert. You confess to aiding two promised brides in escape. You confess to sending them to certain death."

He had not mentioned Aang, but Aang was not important to him. Nor was Zuko. He was the General, and he knew who was of value – and who was dispensable.

"I confess," Zuko coughed it out, licked his swollen, bloody lip.

For a long time he waited for the ring of the General's sword, for the sharp, stabbing pain as the blade found home in his chest. He had seen the executions of the bandits, and no less should be expected for him.

But General Jeong-Jeong did not strike. His face was emotionless and fierce and resolved, but he did not strike.

"In honor of my past respects for you, I will not kill you. But I cannot let you live thus, when you have so wronged me, and wronged my Lord."

Zuko lifted his bruised eyes, just enough to stare, bewildered, at the General. Deep, deep down within Jeong-Jeong's eyes, he thought he saw a light of affection. But it was veiled behind his ferocity, his mask of blood and fear.

"You will take the Rope Walk. May the spirits judge you."


	16. The Rope Walk

Ok, I'm sorry again, but for some reason when I try to add page breaks now it takes like four hours to save. Last chapter I didn't use any page breaks at all, but I thought I could get away with that one. Now I can't, so instead I'm doing this:

_Br eak._

I want to thank SilkenPetal for telling my about the rating. I don't know when I had changed it, but I put it back at M, because of the cursing and gore and…maybe other things? Don't quite know yet.

This chapter gets a little crazy, with the Rope Walk, but it was actually taken from the original book. I tried to soften it a bit, actually.

I also want to put out there that it would bless me incredibly if anyone with artistic skill would enjoy sketching some scenes from this? It's a lot to ask, I know, but it's killing me to imagine all this in my head and not be able to put it into image! If anyone would enjoy doing that, you have a full green light from me. And thank you again to all reviewers!

_Br eak._

"We have to go back! We have to go back –"

Katara had yelled this into the night, utterly distraught, until her brother had awoken and her attention turned to him. Aang was trying with all his might to get the bison to turn around, but the massive creature was too overjoyed to be free of the caravan, and would not heed the boy's demands. Just as Aang unfolded his glider and prepared to fly off after Zuko himself, Sokka realized what had befallen.

"Aang! No!" he had called out while Aang was in mid-jump, and the poor airbender nearly took a nose-dive over the side of the bison at his request.

"Wha'? Sokka, Zuko, he gone an' –"

"I know Aang – _fuck_ –" the sharp, leftover pain from Zuko's blow had hit him, and quickly he put a hand to the back of his head to massage it. "I knew he would do something like this– _damnit_!"

If he had anything near at hand to punch, he probably would have punched it; but there was nothing besides the bison and his sisters and Aang, and he had no desire to harm any of them.

"Well wha'? You wan' us to jus' sit 'ere with our thumbs up our ass?" Aang yelled, and the disbelief in his face was plain. Sokka put his head in his hands and rubbed the sides of it, grinding his teeth.

"We can't help him now," said Sokka, and there was a self-loathing, angry air about him. "That fucking firebender…he's as good as dead. If he isn't already."

_Br eak._

As was custom before the Rope Walk, Zuko was beaten.

He did not attempt to fight back, as this would only incite the barbarians to greater lengths of cruelty. If he could endure their fists, and feet, and knees, and the occasional flash of blade, he could hope to sustain some level of strength before the actual Walk began. Jeong-Jeong had refused to explain the process of the Rope Walk to the firebender, but Zuko couldn't hope that is was anything of little consequence – so he bowed down beneath his blows, and tried his best to keep his head.

When they were finished with him, there was never a sorrier sight. Both of his eyes were bruised, his scarred one practically closed and blinded, a rainbow of blues and purples and his own wrinkled, red tissue. They had stripped him down to his skin, save for his own pair of trousers, and his body was a mottled, messed catastrophe. No inch of him had they spared; dark, parallel indents in his side were the marks of their clenched fists and leather-wrapped knuckles, his stomach splashed with sick yellow bruises – but the majority of him was brilliantly red. But Zuko knew that in a few days time, his crimson skin would darken, and the very sight of him would sicken most men.

His back and legs were both cut and bleeding when they threw him before the General's feet. Several of the barbarians were not above the occasional knife cut, despite Zuko's cooperation, though luckily they were trained enough not to strike too deep.

Zuko was still strong enough to stay up on his hands and knees, fighting heroically against the aching pains of his body. The General did not hesitate to lift his massive boot and crush Zuko straight down into the sand.

It was this blow, aside from all the others, that punished Zuko's pride. With half his face smashed into the sand, struggling for breathe, eyes clouded with humiliation, he let the General pace stand before him and speak his sentence.

"Lift him up. Let him see the Rope Walk."

Two soldiers grabbed Zuko under his arms and lifted him to his feet. It was like lifting a dead body; Zuko was saving his strength, and if these men were bound to carry him, so be it. Yet he could not avoid lifting his head to gaze upon his fate, and to behold the Rope Walk.

At first, all he saw were barbarians. They were grouped in two far, stretching lines, about twelve feet apart, facing each other, and they were screaming. Their cries were deafening across the vast, silent expanse of the Desert.

Then he saw the Rope, and he realized why the jeered.

It was sixty feet long, stretched tight between varying pegs that had been molded steady to the sand by some skilled earthbenders. It was thick, and tightly wound, and Zuko knew it would not break, suspended as it was only several inches above the ground – but it was greased down, slick and unforgiving, and he knew that even in his best condition it would be impossible to cross. This was no act of mercy on behalf of the General; it was more a cruel punishment, like opening the cage door for a wounded tiger.

If he wanted freedom, he had to Walk the Rope – all sixty feet of it. And if he failed…

The barbarians were leering hungrily at him, fiddling with their clubs and knives.

"You must always keep both feet upon the Rope. If at any moment your foot touches the sand, you are free game. May the spirits guide your feet, Zuko," even now, the General's voice was emotionless.

Zuko swallowed, used to the bitter taste in his mouth by now, and prayed to Agni.

Then he placed his first foot upon the Rope, and the barbarians began to roar.

_Br eak._

The bison flew on in silence.

Aang sat alone, bowed and dejected, leaning wearily against one of the bison's horns. Every now and then he may rise to check their progress, or to fix the direction they flew; but he said nothing, only dwelled in the absolute helplessness of his state.

Zuko was going to die, if Jeong-Jeong had not already killed him. It stabbed at the airbender's heart, sharper than a Shifter's knife, and he closed his eyes, lying his head back against the bison's horn. The man who he had fought alongside with, the friend he had trusted ever since _Balda Haram_, throughout this whole absurd journey – the one who had saved them all from the wrath of the General.Aang's head throbbed and his chest felt full of lead.

Zuko was dead, and he had done nothing to stop it.

"Hey," Toph felt her way over to the side of the saddle, probably disliking the coupled silence and blindness of her situation, and guessing at the airbender's thoughts. "It's not like it's your fault, you know. I think he just went crazy."

"Don' make it feel no bett'r, tho'," said Aang miserably. Toph opened her mouth, as though to say something else, but realized that there was nothing to say. Sokka drew out his black blade and irritably began to sharpen it, as depressed as Aang but too angry to brood on it.

Katara said nothing, just kept her head bowed, looking at her folded hands, emotions hidden behind her niqab. She said nothing to any of them, as long as the ride lasted.

The red Desert passed on beneath them for some time, never changing, and subconsciously Sokka began to wonder if the Avatar truly knew where they were going, or if his misery at Zuko's death was somehow affecting his sense of direction and judgment. Just as he was about to say something to the airbender, Aang raised himself up and took the reins again, if only with feigned determination.

"Alrigh' Appa, down now," he said it without warning any of the others, and as the bison began to drift down wearily to the ground, Sokka really did get concerned.

"Aang, are we already – wait, what did you just say?"

"Wha' a ya' mean, Sokka?" Aang said it in monotone.

"You just said something. Appa, I think."

"Yeah, Appa," said the airbender, and Momo had just curled up in his lap. "S'wha' I named the bison. Needs itself a name now, you know. Now tha' he's free an' all."

"Yeah…" Sokka thought it was weird, that even in his state of despair, Aang would be positive enough to think of this small detail. "Sure. 'Course."

They landed a little bumpily, with Toph flying a bit off the side as the great sky-bison, christened Appa, made a awkward, stumbling gallop across the sand as he tried to settle on Desert floor. As Katara and Sokka slid down one side, Aang came around to help the airbender down onto the sands, despite the fact she was hardly happier there than in the saddle.

"This's it," Aang said, when they were all ready and assembled, and Toph was clinging to his arm. Toph turned her head wildly, though this would obviously do no good.

"What? What is it? What's it look like?" she asked. Carefully, Aang led her over to the side of the pinnacle and allowed her to reach out and touch it. She pressed her palm flat against the green stone, and suddenly her face broke into a delighted grin.

"It's amazing!" she exclaimed, running her hand over the stone. "It's incredible! Katara, Sokka – it's got to be seven stories down! It's – well, it's all filled with books, but whatever, still, awesome architecture…"

Aang stared at her incredulously, even though Toph couldn't have known that, though she could feel the slight shock overcoming his body, through the arm she had wrapped around his.

"You can see all tha'? How?"

"My earthbending. Usually, I can see with my feet too – but this sand, it makes everything…fuzzy. Warped. I can't get a clear picture of anything."

"Sorry to 'ear tha'. Still think it's 'igh class, tho', bein' able to see with your feet. I learn'd a bit a earthbending from an ole friend a mine, Bumi – but he ain't nev'r mention'd nothin' like tha'. You must be some fine kind of 'bender."

Toph's grin became a proud, captivating smile as she openly accepted the comment. Sokka's face was emotionless; another change had overcome him, and quickly turning he strode back to the bison, and there was intent in his walk.

"Let's figure out a way to get inside, alright? I can see a window up there – Aang, you can probably reach that no problem, right? Katara, take Toph; Aang, help me with this, we can use Appa's reins as a rope…"

_Br eak._

Zuko began to move along the Rope. Steadily and carefully and painfully, he moved along the Rope.

He tried to tune out the jeering of the barbarians around him, the screaming insults and the flash of blade and club in the sunlight. He could not understand most of what they said, as they grunted and howled in their rough, native language – but the feeling was still there, the insatiable bloodlust that compromised their race, the warrior spirit of battle and struggle and death. It sickened Zuko's stomach as he passed them, worsened with the presence of the crusted, dried blood on his lip and the forming bruises on his skin. He stopped and stared at the Rope for a moment, shivering even in the blazing sun, trying to subdue the overwhelming fear and sickness and pain that was consuming him. The barbarians roared and jeered and stamped their feet, reaching out to him with their huge, cruel hands, inches from his face.

But they never touched him. It was the Law, as long as Zuko's feet were on the Rope. Jeong-Jeong watched silently, perched upon his tiger-stallion, motionless as stone, and not even in their wildest fits would they disobey him. He was their General. He was their god. He was blood and war.

Zuko took a halted breathe and bent himself closer to the Rope, arms stretched weakly on either side of him for balance. His eyes burned, and his body burned, and his head burned, in ways not even a firebender could stand to burn.

And slowly, he inched along the Rope.

_Br eak._

Katara's feet had just touched the Library floor, when Zuko began to sway. She was not aware that he so struggled at that moment, for she knew almost as well as Sokka the ruthlessness of the General, and the men beneath him. The escape would not have gone unpunished. It was the way of Acchai, and luckily she had not known the man well, lest the blow would be far worse.

But still she could not speak. An iron hand was clamped around her heart.

"Alright, Aang – lead the way," said Sokka, as they all descended into the dark hall, helping Toph down last of all. Appa, adoring to his new masters, was lying far above them in the shade of the pinnacle, completely content, sleeping on the sand with new friend, Momo.

"Yeah – yeah, righ'. Is this way, I think – yeah, righ' down this passage 'ere –"

He turned to the left, and a smile broke across his face when he saw a torch glistening on the side of the wall, several paces down the passage. So far, all they had seen on the library were high, dark arches into the ceiling and ominous, painted scenes upon the sides of the walls, lit barely by the light from the distant pinnacle window. The torch must have inspired some hope in his grieving heart, for he broke the silence and ran towards it, heedless of the unknown dangers in the hall.

Before anyone could say a word, he had already slipped and fallen, flat onto his face. Cursing mildly, he lifted himself up onto one hand and massaged his wounded jaw.

"Aang…" for some reason Sokka's eyes were wide and rimmed with fear, and though the airbender had fallen, he had not come to his aid. "Aang…get up slowly, Aang –"

It was too late. Aang had already grabbed the torch and turned, trying to find what he had slipped on. Piles of human bones stared back at him; thick, bleached shoulder blades and broken arms, pairs of shattered, gleaming ribs, white-washed skulls with haunting smiles.

Surprised and revolted, Aang yelled out and tumbled back into Sokka, who caught him out of instinct but could not hold his own balance. They tumbled back down to the floor, and the torch in Aang's hand went out in a flash of smoke.

"Didn' see tha', firs' time 'ere," gasped Aang. "Nothin' like tha', mother of –"

They could hardly see it in the dark, but even then they knew what it was. It was a massive Fox, it's red coat glowing like a living coal with the darkness of the Library. It's voice was like a thousand dreaming children whispering in their beds, soft and sweet and comforting – but there was something terribly deep and hot behind it, like a demon singing a lullaby.

_Follow us._

There was only one of them, as far as they could see, but no one spoke a word, so scared and awed by the presence of it. They knew it was a spirit being – the unusual, intelligent gold spark in it's eyes, and the unreal fluidity of its movement, destroyed any doubt that it was mortal. Even Sokka, who could hardly believe in the spirits no matter what Moon Mistresses visited him in his sleep, could not deny the ageless aura that surrounded the beast.

So when the Fox turned, feet soundless and weightless against the floor, so that not even Toph could really tell where it was, they followed it. Katara took her brother's hand, and Sokka held it without a word, his other hand at the hilt of the black sword.

_Br eak._

The barbarians were wild with wrath.

Zuko had gone about ten or twelve feet without a slip. He worked his way so slowly and carefully that he never once lost balance, despite the poor condition of his body and the weakness in his legs.

Jeong-Jeong had not stirred yet. The barbarians gathered around him, screaming in their own language, as Zuko continued his way along the Rope. They beat their chests and roared and waved their weapons at the General, who calmly ignored them, watching the firebender's progress. In a chant they yelled, and stomped their feet for punishment, and still the General waited.

A smell was coming in on the wind, a terrible rotting smell, as potent as a fresh battlefield. The corpses of the slain camels, brought from the bandit raid for their use in water and meat, were lying abandoned in the sun. They had been stripped of nearly everything, save for their bones and skin, but the rotting stench persisted in a grave warning to the man who walked the Rope.

When Zuko reached the fifteen-foot marker, Jeong-Jeong nodded to his men. They roared in savage ecstasy and scrambled back to the lines.

Zuko took another step upon the Rope. Hope was rising in his heart. He could make the Walk. He could survive.

The camel-stomach smashed into the side of his head, wet and sudden, and Zuko shook on the Rope, coughing out a short cry of alarm.

The demons around him roared, but somehow he managed to stay on the Rope, stunned by the blow and wondering what Jeong-Jeong would do. But Jeong-Jeong did nothing; this was the rule of the Rope Walk. No hand touched Zuko. But Zuko was not getting off as light as he supposed, and as Zuko tried to turn his eyes to the General, another foul, scavenged piece of the camel slammed into his stomach.

Zuko couldn't handle the reality of what they were throwing at him, so he concentrated on the Rope again, bending all his will into staying balanced and ignoring the rainfall of camel organs and sacks of sand that they now flung at him. He tried to remember home, remember his Uncle and mother, the times when he was young and free. His first time firebending. His first ostrich-horse. His first fight in _Balda Haram_. Eyes like an endless blue sky.

Then he turned his thoughts to Mai, and felt no comfort in them.

It was the same moment he imagined her pale, perfected face and haughty eyes that something warm and disgusting crashed into his back. He tottered, shook, felt the horrible need to vomit, and then his foot was on the sand.

They were upon him like wolves. Almost as soon as Zuko's foot went down, they leapt from their lines with their clubs held high. Zuko fell beneath them from the first blow, a heavy club to the back, and in seconds was wrapped in a world of pain and falling clubs and knees and feet. They beat him about like he was no more than a punching-sack, all the while he struggled, and cried out, and writhed beneath them. Their eyes were dark and their faces full of devils.

And then, miraculously, he was back on the Rope.

One man did not realize this in time. He punched Zuko and sent him flying straight off the Rope again, crashing into the sand. This time the men did not leap for him, as the General had finally made his move. Jeong-Jeong's blade was already sliding out of the offending man, red and slick, before Zuko had fully hit the ground.

"Back on the Rope," the emotionless tone of his voice was horrible.

Zuko brought himself to his knees, limp and weak and battered, and bleeding again from his lip. The barbarians kicked sand at him and shook the organs in their hands and jeered for him to resume the Walk.

And for the sake of his life, Zuko did.

_Br eak._

The Fox said nothing else to them, but lead them through the halls by the pure glow of its body. The great arches and paintings around them shimmered in his light, but not enough to show what images lay upon them. Beneath the strange, faint illumination the spirit-being cast, all the walls were thin and stretched and warped, the ceiling covered in gargoyles, the corners and dark halls all full of watching demons.

They began to pass great shelves, tall as the ceiling, which stretched above them as far as the sky itself.Even in the pressing darkness they could see the rows and rows of books upon them: some were thick, and leather-bound, others just rolls of yellow parchment paper. Some of them were blackened and burned, and still others looked half-drowned, or stained or ripped – in fact, hardly was there a book that remained intact, as the ages had undeniably damaged even the deepest depths of this old place.

"This all isn't exactly what I had in mind, Aang," Sokka whispered, vaguely afraid that the Fox would hear them. I was leading them beneath a tall, arching entrance now, the sides drenched with words and warnings in a thousand different tongues, languages of men and animals and spirits. At its peak, a huge, sculpted owl stared down at them, its claws gripping greedily to the arch, feathers falling down around it like black rain. Its eyes were empty and sightless.

"Wasn' ever so dark, when I was 'ere," the airbender muttered. The Fox ignored them both and strode straight into the entrance, beneath the sculpted owl.

They walked out upon a suspended bridge, and around them shelves were rising from a hundred feet below, near the very base of the Library. If there had been much more light, the scene may have ben worth remembering – the rows and rows of gleaming shelves, the thousands upon thousands of books, of pages filled with knowledge. Now it was only darkness, and as they neared the crossway between bridges, the greatest Shadow came to greet them.

Aang had seen the spirit before, and was not so shocked when the great Owl turned out of the dark, it's white face hanging independently in the shadow. Sokka's blood wet abruptly cold and Katara swallowed, all the while Toph stood her firmly stood her ground, ready to earthbend her way out if need be.

The great Owl glided towards them, swift and weightless as a ghost, and lowered its face to see them clearly. This was not because it was dark in the Library, for the Owl could see far better than any of them in the shadow – but he was Spirit, and in looking into their faces he was studying their souls.

"I am Wan Shi Tong, the Guardian of this Library. What makes you think you are worthy to venture here?"

The four could say nothing, awed and staring beneath the massive form before them. The Fox who had led them thus far paced over behind the Owl and seated itself, and suddenly there was a pack or so more of the creatures with him, as silent and haunting as the first.

_They have nothing to offer. Only sudden grief, _one of them whispered. Wan Shi Tong contemplated this briefly.

"Why do they grieve?" the great Owl mused, almost jokingly, to himself. "They are very ignorant creatures. You, however, little airbender – you have been here before. Do you recognize it?"

"Your lot diff'rent, from when I saw ya' last," Aang said quietly. The Owl seemed to increase slightly in height and strength, looming up over the Avatar with slow, calculating movements.

"With each passing day, with each grain of knowledge, I grow older and wiser," stated Wan Shi Tong in a low, superior tone of voice. "You mortals, however – you remain the same. Fighting for victory when there is none. Loving selfishly. Grieving needlessly."

It made a noise like an irritated coo, and shivered, ruffling its giant feathers. Sokka and Aang chanced a brief, hopeful glance at one another, daring to hope that, perhaps, the Owl meant –

"Great Wan Shi Tong, please," it was Katara who spoke, to the confusion of the other three, who stared at her like she was wearing a stuffed vulture on her head. "Great One, you said we grieved needlessly. Why would you say that?"

"You grieve for a firebender, yes?" said Wan Shi Tong shortly, though he as obviously reveling in the fact he knew more than she. "You mortals. Death lurks in every corner, but it is never certain."

"So he is alive?" the way in which she breathed the words made Sokka turn his head, and suspect. Wan Shi Tong glared at the waterbender, woman of Acchai, waiting for her to quail and shrink beneath the infinite terror of his being.

"I see him near death's door," Wan Shi Tong said, and truly his great, wide, staring eyes seemed capable of seeing past the veils of reality, haunted with the presence of the Void. "…he will be lost soon. Mortals are always taking life. It is in giving it that they fail miserably."

"Please, then, great Spirit," she said, taking a bold step towards the Owl, who could have swallowed her in one lightning-quick bite. "If you can find it in your wise judgment to show compassion – we owe much to this man. Will you help him?"

"It is not in my nature to show compassion on mortals," the great Owl stated swiftly and bluntly, turning to drift back into the Library halls. Horrified by this quick denial, Katara could only stare, speechless.

"You bastr'd – !" screamed Aang suddenly, forfeiting the others and running after the Owl, regardless of the stupidity of the move. "When I came 'ere with Gyatso, you said you was 'ere to 'elp us, you said all the spirits were willin' ta' 'elp!"

"When you came with Monk Gyatso, it was for purposes of peace. Now you come with purposes of war."

Wan Shi Tong's gaze turned to Sokka, who shifted uncomfortably beneath the Owl's great eyes. He began to drift off again without another word, obviously considering these children of little importance, and Aang, desperate for the chance to save Zuko, did what it was completely against his nature to do, and pulled out the Avatar card.

"Please, we don' wan' war! I'm – I'm the Avatar, you know! S'gotta mean something to you –"

It did mean something to him. Wan Shi Tong gave a high, painful, ear-splitting screech that made all four of them clap their hands to their ears, and then the great Owl was reared up before Aang, feathers bristled menacingly, eyes like lightning in the dim light.

"_Avatar_!" the spirit being roared, and Aang stood silent and terrified beneath him, a small figure beneath the creature's massive, looming shadow. "Avatar _Aang_? This is the power in your soul? Killer, liar, thief! Must I suffer you and your kind for all time? I will rip you in two!"

The great Owl screeched again, high and piercing, and flung out it's terrible black wings as it prepared to strike upon the boy, huge, golden beak bared and dagger-sharp in the torchlight. Aang took a halted, terrified step back and threw his arms above his head to shield himself, collapsing to his knees.

The Owl struck down with such force as it's beak would have cleaved the airbender in half; but Aang never felt the blow. Only heard the a deep, rattling bark, and a massive _smash_ as one of Wan Shi Tong's Fox-beings collided into the side of the Owl's head.

It threw Wan Shi Tong's attack into a tall, library bookcase, and the wood shattered beneath the blow into a rainfall of splinters. Books and pages flew down around them all, and the four mortals did their best not to get struck by an heavy books. Even as the papers and wood and books still fell, Wan Shi Tong recovered himself and whirled upon the offending Fox, who stood set before the Avatar.

"What is this?" screeched the great Owl, and he threw out his gigantic wings in a rage, as though to envelope them all in the infinite darkness of his being.

_Harm the Avatar, and descend into demon-being._

"I know the Curse of Koh!" Wan Shi Tong screeched, but there was truly something demonic about his appearance now; his great, wide eyes were laced with red, and terrifying in their wrath. "But I will not aid them in making war! And I will not fetch another of their kind! I am Wan Shi Tong, and they are powerless before me!"

_Sire. We will fetch the firebender_.

"You?" the great Owl stared at their leader, and then turned upon the entire pack of foxes. There was no longer any peace, or restraint in the spirit's voice. "Why would you be willing for such a thing?"

_We are the Runners. The sun made us. The sun made him. We call him brother._

"He is mortal! You have no part with him!"

_We are the Runners. Agni's grace, rest upon us. We will protect the fire-son._

The great Owl screamed, horribly, so loud and long that Katara collapsed beside her brother and Toph was stamping her feet to try and make it stop. Aang remained on his knees, hands tight at his ears. Sokka was motionless.

"Do as you wish!" the Owl finally screamed, deafeningly, and disappeared into his Library.

The Foxes leapt like lightning from their sight and vanished into the dark.

_Br eak._

When Zuko was at the marker for thirty feet, when he fell for the second time. As soon as his foot touched the earth, he knew he would not recover. His slow exectution was almost over. The General had shown him no mercy.

In the second before the barbarians were upon him again, he wondered how many had even made the Rope Walk so far as he. Perhaps half-way was a respectable distance after all.

A barbarian had him by his black hair, and dragged him to his knees before his fellows. They knew, as well as Zuko himself, that the firebender was not getting back on the Rope, and the rush of men and clubs to block him from the Walk had ceased. Now they toyed with him, beat him slowly to death as they must have done a hundred times before, to a hundred equally wretched souls.

They smacked him across his face with camel stomachs, and scattered sand above his head, and hooted and jeered worse than ever. Throughout it all Zuko hung his head, and did not once attempt to defend himself, trying only to pull his mind away from the reality of the situation. For a long time they mocked him, poured oil over his head and told him to firebender his way out, smacked him repeatedly and kicked him in his ribs.

Whatever respect Zuko had had for them in Al-Abad was dead and gone. He knew now what they were – they were barbarians, not men of Acchai or of the Union, but men of themselves, subject to the twisted delights of their own souls. They had been bred to kill and fight, but it was their own hearts that led them to jeer and mock the wounded.

Then, inexplicably, it ceased. Zuko thought perhaps that they were coming to prepare him for some greater torture. Trampled by a goat-mule, perhaps? That was poetic. When he felt the presence of his next tormentor before him, he raised his head to glare into his punishment.

It was Jeong-Jeong. As always he said nothing, only took the firebender's arm in on of his great, leather wrapped hands and stretched it out tight across the sand.

Zuko realized what he was he doing the second before it happened. In freak adrenaline he screamed, and floundered through the sand like a mad snake, trying to escape the iron grip of the General.

The crack was loud and sharp, even beneath the boot of the General, as the bone in Zuko's arm broke. Zuko roared and threw himself face down to the sand, and finally the tears began to fill his eyes.

In absolute agony Zuko writhed in the sand, clutching his broken arm to his chest, so that even when the cold metal of Jeong-Jeong's blade touched the back of his neck he did not stir. Only pressed his face into the Desert, tears staining his bloody, sand-streaked face, broken and miserable and dying beneath the flaming judgment of the General.

"You have failed the Rope Walk."

The General did not hesitate when he raised his arm to strike. Zuko did not try to evade him. Death was working is claws into him, and he no longer had the desire to fight it anymore, if only the pain would end.

But General Jeong-Jeong never made the stroke. There was the sound of flesh ripping, and the light patter of what seemed a thousand weightless feet. The General's dropped his sword, his arm devoured in his own wellspring of blood, rent right through to the bone.

They were huge, red-brown Foxes, terrible as living fire in the sunlight, teeth cold and glistening beneath their curled lips. But Zuko could no see them, eyes misted with pain and weakness as he was.

_Are you strong enough to ride?_

Zuko was still staring at the sand, still holding his pulsing, painful, shattered arm, too far gone to answer the beast, whether in words or with his mind. Darkness was invading his sight as he grew dizzy with pain, and the last thing he heard before meeting the darkness was the soft, yet deadly voices of the Foxes around him.

_We are the Runners. We will carry you._

Two of the Foxes were at Zuko in a moment, taking him carefully, softly, in their mighty jaws, one gently around his un-broken arm, the other about his entire waist, so great and wide was their bite. They fled into the Desert with the rest of their fellows, and not one barbarian dared follow them. It had all happened in a second.

One fox stayed behind, staring straight into the eyes of the General. Jeong-Jeong stared straight back, fierce and ferocious as the spirit-beast before him, heedless of his bleeding arm.

_We are the Runners. When the cry goes up, we expect your coming. If you deny us your strength, then we will have your blood._

Then it turned and fled to follow the others, leaving Jeong-Jeong silent and smiling in the Desert.


	17. History

Katara was seated on the floor, pretending to read a scroll she had found on the Foggy Swamp Style of waterbending. Her eyes were glassy and she had remained on the same line of characters for about ten minutes now. Every so often, she glanced down the hallway leading to the entrance, and then returned to the scroll.

Aang and Toph were sitting together on a Library desk, wrapped up in a conversation about Toph's style of earthbending – a Praying Mantis variation that she had invented herself. Both Katara and Sokka would have found this discussion endlessly boring, but it astounded Aang, who had, in his own turn, made up several original airbending moves in the same fashion. As they traded stories and styles and stupid jokes, Sokka slipped away down one the rows of books.

He did not, at first, know where he was going, or why. He was intrigued by the vastness of knowledge in the Library, and the mysteries it could solve. While he had not grown up with the false histories and lies of the Union, as Zuko had, he still had little to no idea of the histories of Acchai, or of the world itself. In the war-torn lands between the Union and the lands of the Emperor, there was no time or place to keep historic scrolls, and truly not enough words to explain the huge complexities of alliances and betrayals and rivalries that were formed and broken every day in Accahi. Sokka knew only the history of his true father, of Jeong-Jeong and Fong, and little else.

Every now and then he stopped to pull out a book, and found most of them oddly useless. One mentioned fourteen different ways to cook a rooster-pig, while another adequately detailed, in poetic format, the life of a stable-cleaner; still others were written in weird languages, or in unconnected pictures. None of them held the Prince's interest for long, and as he continued down the rows of books he began to wonder if the great Owl's wisdom was really just this collection of useless junk. It wouldn't have surprised him.

Then, just as he was about to turn back to the others and await the Foxes return, something gleamed out of the corner of his eye from down the hall. He turned to investigate, following it down a darker hall, hardly lit but by the light of a few distant torches.

He found it only after searching for a long time. On the side of one the bookcase was a small, white, crescent moon. It drew Sokka forth, familiar and distant and haunting, like a memory long forgotten.

He reached out and touched it, but nothing happened. He ran his fingers down the curve of it, looked around for an inscription. But nothingwas there, and nothing happened.

He was about to turn and leave when another gleam caught his eye; letters shone back at him from one of the bookcase shelves, carved into the wood to show the subject of the scrolls above it.

_Of the Fall of the Avatar, and the Rise of Long Feng._

He did not hesitate, but picked out the first burned, barely legible piece of parchment and began to read.

_**Br eak**_

The Foxes were very careful with Zuko, when they finally descended into the Library. Zuko was unconscious for all of it, and this was merciful to him, for one wrong move and he could have accidentally sliced himself open beneath the fangs of the beasts that held him.

Sokka returned at the same moment as the Foxes. All of them were at their feet in a moment, but none could speak a word; the man the Foxes carried only vaguely resembled human anymore, the spark of life in him almost as dark and dim as the halls they stood in. Katara clasped her hands to her chest as they carried him by, muttering something that sounded like a prayer. Aang made a move towards the firebender, opened his mouth to say soemthing, but couldn't speak for fear.

"Katara," Sokka's voice was oddly calm and collected, considering the pitiful picture of a man that had just been carried by. Katara didn't hear him, her eyes wide and frightened at the sight of Zuko's tortured frame, so Sokka said louder. "_Katara_!"

She turned this time, and so did Toph and Aang. He looked at all of them in passing before retuning to Katara.

"Follow them. See if there's anything you can do," Katara took off at once, quickly followed by Toph and Aang, all desperately aware that Zuko could be breathing his last.

"Aang!" Sokka stopped the airbender in his tracks. "Not you. Come with me."

Aang would have protested, Sokka knew, so he turned away before the airbender get a word in. Aang hesitated, glanced the way Katara, Toph, and Zuko had gone, but then obediently followed the Prince.

_**Break**_

The Foxes laid Zuko gently on a couch, in a small room off the side of one of the great Library halls. Katara and Toph were at their heels, both desperate to help the firebender, though Katara moreso, as she could actually see the dire state of his body.

The Foxes retreated after placing him on the couch, and instantly Katara was at his side. Luckily this room was lit with several torches, and in the flickering light she studied the wounds across his skin, and with each new discovery her face fell into more despair.

"This is very bad," she said quietly. Most of his bruising had not yet fully formed, and between the splashes of blue and purple his skin was still just a very deep red – but as early as tomorrow he would be unable to move, and the problems his limp, broken arm posed would make his healing twice as difficult.

"I'm going to need more water, Toph," said Katara quickly, pressing the back of her hand to the firebender's forehead to check for fever and infection. "He's burning up – if you can find some healing oils – or maybe some thyme herb, or arnica, it'll help with the inflammation –"

"Katara, I may be able to see with my feet, but to find some thyme herb? Plus, don't you remember we're in a Lib –"

"His arm is broken," Katara breathed, as if she hadn't heard a word from her sister. Instantly she bended some water from her canteen to begin work on the crooked arm. "Toph, I need you to try to make some sort of sling or splint –"

"With what?" Toph asked, throwing her hands out irritably towards her sister. She could not fully see the distressed state of the firebender and therefore thought Katara was just being stupid. "There's nothing here but books! You want me to rip off my sari and make one?"

Katara was about to give a swift, angry rebuttal, but suddenly she felt the presence of a spirit beside her and turned to see one of the Foxes staring at her with deep, fire-filled eyes.

_We can bring you what you need._

"I – yes, ok," the Foxes unnerved Katara greatly, but so far they had shown only goodwill. "That would be fine. And is there water somewhere?"

_There is a spring at the base of the Library._

"Ok, can you take Toph there, and perhaps find her something to fill with water? And maybe – maybe another one of you could find some thyme? It's a green plant that –"

_We are aware of your needs. We will return swiftly._

Katara heard the light, almost undetectable footfalls of other Foxes outside the door, as they sped away to bring her the necessary materials. The one in the room placed itself beside Toph, who put a wary hand on the creature's shoulder and allowed it to lead her from the room.

"If I don't come back, Katara," she tried to joke, though it was obvious she was slightly nervous.

Katara would have said something to comfort her before she left, but as she turned the corner out of the room Zuko stirred on the couch and her attention was drawn back to him.

His lips were dry and cracked and blood-stained, and his scarred eye was swollen shut. As terrible and inhuman as he looked, beaten so badly by the barbarians, she drew close to him without fear.

"Water," his voice was dry. She could tell he was not yet conscious enough to register the pain in his body, and bent some water to his lips carefully, hoping to ease the suffering he would soon endure. He drank greedily for a moment, letting his eyes stray open and look up into her eyes, face still shrouded from the niqab.

She saw the pain seep into his eyes like he was going blind. Agony overcame him and he choked wildly on the water, spattering it everywhere as Katara tried to hold him down to the couch. Panicked, he tried to raise his broken arm, and let out a halted, tortured cry when the white, stabbing pain came, and Katara's heart broke horribly at the sound. Then he fell back against the couch, adrenaline smothered with the blazing anguish in his body, shivering and clutching his arm beneath short, broken breaths.

Katara bent the water back upon both of her hands, keeping her left firmly fixed on is arm, where she knew his pain was greatest. The other she raised to the side of his head, and gently she ran the healing water across his temple, trying to cool and comfort him.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered, but he was still shaking badly.

Zuko's shivering slowly began to cease, as she massaged his temple and eased the pain in his arm. He kept his eyes on her throughout it, though his golden gaze was filmed with agony and weakness, and twice he moved his mouth as if to say something. Then Toph returned with the Fox and a bucket of water, and he fell unconscious again.

_**Break**_

"Sokka, I know ya' said this was import'nt, but Zuko could be –"

"Zuko's going to be fine, Aang," said Sokka, and there was real confidence in his voice. "I never knew a better healer than Katara, and Toph will help her. But there's something you need to know."

He passed the bookcase with the white moon engraving and led the airbender to a small stack of books and parchments he had taken from the shelves.

"Sokka, I can't hardly read me self –"

"Fine, alright, I'll read it," said Sokka, unfolding the scroll with quick purpose, and reading out loud to the airbender. The first one was simple and poorly worded, as though a child had wrote it, and even Sokka had to go back a few times to figure out what the writer was saying.

_My name is… I am the Duke. Jet gave me the name. He teech me rite. He want me to rite now. Aang owtside. There is noyse. A person sed help, but why…_

_I rite fastr. Cant here Aang talk, used to yell. King mad. Jet sed rite wat hapend. Fire natin good now. All us, we stop it. But King mad. He sed, not enuff. Aang sed, war ovr, no more, now we have peese. King ly, say yes, now he here. Now he come here. _

_Cant here Aang. I look undr door. _

Here the words became terribly smudged, and Sokka could only make out certain words like "_fire_" and "_run_", though nothinggood enough to make up a sentence. He skipped down to the next clearest line and resumed reading, to Aang's increasing wonder and horror.

…_tink Long Shot is ded. He on the floor, Smellr Be crys. Cant see Aang, or Zuko. They still fite King, I tink. Jet sed tell them we lose. Long Feng ly to all Eerth Kingdum. He rule evrythin now. Dont tink I get owt in time. See Zuko, he cary Tof. She bleedin. Still cant see Aang._

_I hide papr now. Big rok jus hit wall. Jet sed, tell them we lose. Aang ded. I saw him body. I dont tink I get owt in time. May be I try to_

And then suddenly it cut off and ended in a huge splotch of ink, so that even if anything else was written it was lost beneath the great black stain. Aang opened his mouth to say something, but Sokka had already picked up another scroll and hushed him quiet, reading:

_To Master Pakku, and all that is left of the Northern Water Tribe, on behalf of Sifu Katara. _

_Five years from the time of the death of Ozai, once Crown Prince, once Fire Lord, once friend of the Avatar Aang. _

_We flee to Kyoshi in the morning. Piandao has readied a boat for us. Suki and Toph have left for the old mountains, taking the path through the Desert. Haru has made a haven there in the roots of the stone, for those who remember the old ways. Seek the sign of the Lotus. _

_We laid Aang's body in the Temple ruins. The cold fires mark his grave. Longshot, the Duke, and SmellerBee were killed in the throne room, bodies never recovered. Teo fell at the far gate, and his father beside him. Ty Lee fell to Azula. Sokka and Uncle and Jet fought together in the halls with the Dai Li. Bodies never recovered. _

_Omashu and Ba Sing Sei are taken. The southern tribe was led away in chains. The throne of the Fire Lord has been cast down, and everywhere is the banner of Long Feng._

_We lost the babe tonight. Katara is broken with grief. I will carry her to the boat tomorrow._

_Agni's grace, rest upon us. _

Then there was something entitled, _Orders of the King, Fourth Year of the Rule:_

_Order kept to pursue the Rebels. King to lead attack on Valsai in three weeks time._

_Seige of the Crescent Isles continued. Inner Wall taken on the second of the month. Enemy surrender inevitable._

_Payment sent to Lord Xai Ten, in return for Rebel information:_

_Fourteen elephants; Sixty-three camels; Fifty pounds of ivory; Seventy yards of silk; Ten thousand coins of silver; Five thousand coins of gold; Twenty virgins from Tel-Aph; Twenty virgins from the Southern Islands._

_Executions scheduled for the tenth month: _

_Fourty-three, including fugitive Jeong-Jeong and captured companions._

_Three libraries in the East burned. Another to be burned during attack as Valsai. _

_Fugitives Zuko, Katara, Toph, Piandao and Haru still missing. Fugitive Suki apprehended at the Lion's Gate. Interrogation commenced. Execution suspended until the twelfth month._

_Under-Secret Azula to marry the King. Wedding to be held before attack on Valsai. Under-Secret Mai to be given full charge of Lady Azula's holdings._

_Library still undiscovered._

_No signs of the Avatar._

"There's more where all this came from," said Sokka, grabbing a few more pieces of parchment to emphasize the point. "There's maps, everything from the original Four Nations, to the hundred year war, to the conquest of Long Feng. Histories about leaders, and wars, in shifts of power – how the Union was first formed, how Acchai was slowly divided up, how the Emperor rose to power. The decline of the sky-bisons and the dragons – the first time a woman was sold to settle a debt. Everything anyone has ever wondered about how the world became such a shit-hole – it's all right here. Five hundred years of history, and all of it started with Long Feng, when the Earth kingdom conquered the world."

"Freaky, jus' freaky," muttered Aang, resting back against the book shelf. "Can't you see, Sokka? Is jus' too weird – I mean, look, there's me name, on paper an all, sayin' I died. Say's you died too. Who's these people, an' why we all named after 'em? S'not us, happen'd 'undreds a years ago, righ'? 'Less –"

Sokka was getting a little irritated that Aang was not seeing the blatant truths and histories that he was seeing, but withheld his outburst, as the Avatar was probably finding it all difficult himself. Aang, however, was on a totally different train of thought.

"'Less Gyatso was right. 'Less we was all reincarnat'd."

"I don't know about that," said Sokka, but there was an eerie prickle at the base of his spine. "What I do know is that we need to find these places their talking about and see if there's anyone left who remembers the truth. There's probably records from other Avatars after this one – they were probably in hiding, until we found you – "

"Nah, Sokka," said Aang slowly. "Ya' won't find any. Wasn't no Avatars after tha'…not til me, leastways."

"What? Sokka stared at him incredulously. "Of course there was, there had to be, you –"

But then a lightlbulb went on in the back of his head, and Zuko realized why Aang was no concerned with the histories he was showing him now.

"You knew this already, didn't you? I mean – some of it, at least. When you came here with –"

"Gyatso?" said Aang, but he was no looking at Sokka, and there was a defeated air about him. He picked idly at his dirty peasant shirt, as Sokka waited, confused. "Yeah. We came 'ere to find out who was th' las' Avatar. Couldn't find nothin', tho', save for all them's people who 'ad the same names as us. Didn' like it. Still don'. Somethin' not righ' 'bout it all."

"All the more reason to go find these havens," Sokka stated boldly, too emblazoned with the truth to linger on the same doubts Aang did. "Come one, Aang."

For a second, Aang looked like he was ready to just stay seated on that Library floor. Sokka had not noticed how dejected and unwilling he was until now, his shoulders dropped wearily, eyes misted with fear and loss.

"Wha' could I do anyway, Sokka? Couldn' fix it. World's too screw'd ta' hell."

His voice was despairing. Sokka had never seen him like that before.

"We've got to try, Aang."

Then he grabbed the airbender's arm and lifted him to his feet.

Katara and Toph listened to their story with disbelief. Even when Aang confirmed Sokka's suspicions, and they showed them the miles of scroll to support this, the doubt remained. Unnerved by all of their skepticism, Sokka began to pack his things and changed the subject to Zuko, whom Katara had left alone on the couch.

"He is asleep," said Katara softly. "But he will need a lot of care. His arm is broken, and I think his ribs may be damaged too. And he has so many cuts and bruises…"

"Then stay with him, and heal him. I think the Foxes will help you," said Sokka, stuffing the last of the parchments into his satchel. "Aang, untie Appa and take Toph with you to the north, and see if there is anything left of that underground haven."

"We shouldn't split up, Sokka –" Toph began fiercely, but Sokka did not allow her to finish.

"No, Toph. If there is anything left there, you're the one who'll be able find it. We'll meet back here in a week. Remember what the letter said, Aang: seek the sign of the Lotus."

"'Cause I know wha' the hell tha' means," muttered Aang, but Sokka didn't hear him. He had already turned to find one of the Foxes (there always seemed to be one around, haunting some corner) waiting expectantly.

"Would any of you be willing to take me to a place called Kyoshi?" he asked the spirit-being.

_Kyoshi lies beneath the waves now. But we will take you as far as the ocean-side._

Sokka nodded, and the Fox raised itself up for the Prince to ride. He came and hugged his sisters, despite their protests, wrapped his arms around the Fox's neck, and was gone.

He had left so quickly that hardly any of them had finished trying to talk sense into him. When they finally realized he was not coming back, a silence descended between them all. The abrupt departure had made it all terribly clear to them that something was changing, not just in them but in the world about them, and that it wasn't going to be an easy – not by any stretch of the imagination, was this going to be easy.

"Well, Toph," Aang finally said, unwillingly, giving one worried look at Katara. "Guess we got a' go. Say hi to Zuko for me, when 'e wakes up, will ya' ma'am?"

"Of course, Aang," said Katara, but the realization that they were all leaving her now seemed to break her spirit. Toph hugged her sister tightly, and then took Aang's arm. Side-by-side they walked down the hall, and disappeared into the dark.

Katara swallowed and held herself for a moment, holding back the unwelcome shivers of fear. Then she turned back into the hall, and went to tend to Zuko.

_**Break**_

Fun Fact: The oils of the thyme and tea tree, as well as arnica-genus plants, actually do reduce swelling and pain from bruising.


	18. Pain and Pleasure

Happy Birthday to Milk! Happy Birthday to Milk!! Happy Birthday to Miiiilllk!!!

Happy Birthday, to Milk!

And many mooooore!

_**Break**_

When Zuko awoke, his eyes were filmed, unaccustomed to the dim light of the Library, and his body was stiff. He did not at once attempt to rise, as he was certain of one of two things: either he was dead, in which case some all-knowing spirit being would probably come to take him away soon – or he was alive, which must've meant that he was saved from the Rope Walk and in a safer place, as no one seemed to be trying to beat him to death.

He also became aware that someone was sitting near to him, working diligently on some task he could not see. He had not stirred or moved, nor betrayed his awareness, so Katara did not know he was awake. It took him a long time to get his brain working enough to speak, and even then he found the task difficult.

"How long have I been under?" he managed.

She jumped a little when he spoke, and almost dropped the clothe from her hands. If Zuko had been fully awake, he may have found this amusing.

"…A day and a night," her voice was soft, and as his vision finally cleared he could see her beside him, carefully cutting strips of clothe from what seemed to be a curtain. "How do you feel?"

"…I don't know," it took a concentrated effort to talk, though he couldn't understand why. "I think… everything's numb."

"I gave you a drug earlier," she said gently. "To ease the pain. Can you sit up?"

"…Yeah. Of course."

Despite the fact he could hardly feel any part of his body, he managed to raise himself up into sitting position with his one good arm, the broken one still cradled to his body. He tried to lift it, but found he met great resistance in that regard – and, of course, Katara chastised as him as soon as she saw it.

"Don't _move it_, Zuko – it's broken in two places that I know of. For goodness' sake, you'd think a man would know better –"

"Katara, don't –"

But at that moment Zuko's eyes finally adjusted to the light, and he got an unbearably clear picture of his body. The bruises had fully-formed into their splashes of blue and purple and green, and the sight of his skin was absolutely sickening.

He closed his eyes immediately and rested his head back against the side of the couch, slowing his breathing, fighting off the stomach-sickness that was rising in him. But as he inhaled he found, in abrupt terror, that his chest would not expand all the way. Katara put down her half-made splint and drew closer to him for comfort.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she said quickly, but he could hear the fear in her voice. "I've been working hard – all of your cuts are healed, at least. There will be some scarring, on your back, but – but nothing too grave. And your eyes have healed quickly too."

"I can't get a full breathe," Zuko said it weakly, giving her a desperate sort of look, and she knew it was time for the full truth.

"…Yes, I was afraid of that. Your ribs were bruised – but I can help that too. I just need the Foxes to bring more water…"

"The Foxes?" Zuko thought he must have been slipping into a dream, before he remembered the strange, animal-like beings that had tried to talk to him, during his last moments at the Rope Walk.

"Yes. I've already sent them off – and if you just lie still now, I can put your arm in a splint…"

She was right about the Foxes, as Zuko soon discovered. As she worked his limp, thankfully numb arm into her makeshift wood-and-curtain splint, several of them entered the room with pails or buckets filled with water, swinging slowly in their teeth but never spilling. Zuko watched them in awe, which was all well and good for Katara, who could work on his arm without interruption. The Foxes must have brought in about a dozen pails of water before the last one turned and sat obediently on the far side of the room, as though awaiting his next instruction. It was the same Fox who had spoken to Zuko at the Rope Walk, though there was no way he could ever know this, nor did the Foxes distinguish enough between each other to know it themselves.

She bent a great quantity of water onto her hands, and the fluidity and mastery of her motion captivated even Zuko. As she brought her hands to his chest, he stiffened involuntarily, as was his want beneath foreign hands; but as soon as the cold, soothing liquid met his feverish skin, he relaxed, and allowed her to run her dripping hands across him.

The motion of her hands was better than any sort of massage he could imagine. The water flowed down through his heated skin and wrapped about the bone and muscle like a soothing wind, making everything weightless and cool. He was tempted, vaguely, to close his eyes and drift off, but thought this might be rude. That, and a small ache was growing under his ribcage.

"Where are we? Where is everyone?" he asked, and suddenly found he was looking very intently at her veiled face and deep, rich blue eyes.

"We're in the Library," she said, working slowly across his chest. "It's…well, I don't really know what it is. Just a big Library, I suppose. But it's a safe place. No one but Aang seems to know where it is."

"Aang?" Zuko jumped at his friend's name. "Is he alright? And what about your brother, and sister? Where are they?"

"They left the same day you came," she said, and he could hear the sadness in her voice. "I believe they are all right. Sokka seemed confident they would be."

"Why would they leave?" Zuko writhed a little bit as a soreness began to grow in the hollows of his chest. He ignored it, thinking it was a sleeping-sore, from lying down for so long.

"It's too…too confusing a story to tell now," she said evasively. "We need to worry about you. Is there anything you need? Are you hungry? Or thirsty?"

The soreness was beginning to really bother Zuko, but he didn't want her to worry, as she already seemed very distraught from the departure of her brother and sister.

"I'm fine. Really," he gave her a small smile.

"Sure you are," she said, unconvinced. "I was able to make some stew earlier – the Foxes have been bringing things night and day. I can't believe I ever feared them. I will bring you some in a moment, but first I'm going to try your arm."

As soon as the water left his chest, the soreness deepened unbearably. If he winced, he did it with such smoothness and control she did not notice. Truth be told, though, he was at the moment heedless of the pain, for her words and aura had effectively captured all of his attention. The swift care and concern she was showing for him struck him as completely foreign – as foreign as the niqab upon her head, as the deep caramel-coloring of her skin. Yet somehow he did not loathe or refuse it, as his warrior spirit was want to do. Rather it drew him, as a moth to a flame, as a traveler to a warm light.

"Are you always this kind?" he asked, quietly now because the pain in his chest was growing steadily, and he was doing his best to subdue it. She looked up swiftly, paused for a moment from healing his arm.

"What?" he could not see her smile beneath her niqab, but her eyes were sparkling.

"Back home, in _Balda Haram_," the soreness was becoming a real pain now, and it was starting to really affect his breathing. Out of pure desire to speak with her, her managed to control it. "Some people care about you, sure – but it really doesn't matter to many, if you live or die."

"I'm…I'm sure it mattered to someone," for some reason she turned away, evading his eyes.

Zuko tried to reply, but two things detained him: the first was that he was obviously going to mention Mai – but then he realized the woman had never once shown him any bit of kindness for him to brag about. This realization adequately crushed several of his illusions about her, despite his former loyalties, and he began to doubt.

The second thing that stopped him was a swift, sudden eruption of pain in his chest as he tried to draw in a breath. The drug had run out of his system and the full weight of his broken body crashed down on him, so beneath a choked gasp of surprise, he began to shake violently. Fear stole across Katara like a shadow, and she put a hand on either side of his face, desperately searching his eyes.

"Zuko? Zuko what is it? Where does it hurt?"

"It hurts – it hurts to breathe," he gasped, and his eyes were wide with pain again. Before he could make a move, and possibly further damage himself, Katara flooded her hands and laid him back down on the couch, bending the water onto his strangled chest. He shuddered beneath her, and out of blind instinct reached out to grab her, unable to stand the pain alone.

Her hands, of course, were busy with his chest, and he ended up grabbing her thigh, which startled her extremely. However awkward, though, she managed to overlook it and concentrate on his chest.

"I have to heal it slowly, you understand," she whispered. Zuko's hand was still tight on her sari-covered leg, but she allowed him this mild indecency. "I must guide the ribs into place – if I move them too quickly they might break. Tomorrow will be much better."

"Thank you," he breathed, and his hand loosened on her leg, though he did not fully release her. Still she said nothing, only glided her hands gently over his wounded chest, until the Foxes brought her more herbs, and she was able to drug him again.

_**Break**_

"A pleasure for you to meet us here, Advisor Zhao. Admiral Zhanu."

"The pleasure is ours, of course," Zhanu, the younger image of his powerful father, bent to kiss Azula's hand; but he was, of course, immediately distracted by his conquest, and as Mai extended her own hand a savage gleam lit up his eye. Jet stood behind, silent as death, barely able to conceal the hatred he harbored the two other men.

"Your visit is, to say the least, unexpected, my lady Azula," said Zhao coldly, beckoning them to take a seat in his parlor. He was a man of suspicion, and even his closest friends he did not trust.

"Ah, Advisor, you always were such a type," said Azula, but her words were thickly sweet. "That brilliant mind of yours, always turning and guessing. How my father envied you."

Even Zhao could not hide the faint escape of a grin on his face. The fact that pompous Ozai should envy him was, of course, a given in his mind; but to hear it from the lips of his daughter made it all the more savory.

Azula sat on the parlor couch as though she had lived there her whole life, exquisite as she took her tea cup from one of Zhao's many servants, the picture of beauty and grace. Her fine, white and red dress was hardly an expensive thing, but she wore it so pristinely and kept it in such lavish condition that it looked twice as admirable as Mai's real, dark red silk one. She hardly drew Zhanu's gaze; the young man's eyes were fixed on Mai, and distracted only by the subtle movement of Azula's body guard, as he placed himself in a shadowed corner behind his mistress.

"I must ask, my ladies," he said swiftly, regarding Jet with obvious dislike. "Who is this man with you? He looks like a servant, yet –"

"Oh, he is just a hired hand, dare not regard him," Azula smiled and waved it off, perfectly above such unimportant questions. "My Uncle begged me drag him along. To keep me safe from the dangers of these streets – you already know of them, I deem."

Zhanu was not a stupid man, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it was undoubtedly cunning of him to have even noticed Jet whom his father had already overlooked. He did not have the soul of a warrior, but the soul of a conquerer, and he knew how to distinguish friend from foe. There was no goodwill in the dark eyes of the man who followed Azula, just as there was no true kindness in her own golden gaze. It was why he sought Mai apart from her; for she was cold and indifferent, and it would enable him to pursue his conquests undisturbed.

"…Yes,' said Zhanu slowly, letting his ego swell. "I have been in quite a scrape or two. But always came out on top."

"That is because you are a great man," Mai spoke finally, turning up her perfect nose beneath her clean, washed black locks. "And there is nothing as walks these streets but filth."

"I am glad you think so," said Zhanu lowly, and there was a horrible shimmer in his eyes again.

"Let us stay the coy talk!" suddenly Zhao sat up in his chair, still flattered by Azula but impatient, as was his nature. "Tell me, my lady, why did you wish to see us tonight?"

"You always were right to the point, Advisor," said Azula fondly. Behind, Jet had moved forwards slightly, out of blind instinct and bloodlust. He knew Zhao and Zhanu's kind as well as his own, and he loathed them.

"Very well. My family name has been cursed by my father," she said, and there was the perfect amount of regret and disdain in her voice. "I was hoping, as the good friends you once were, that you may take me away from his poor influence. I do not seek a permanent arrangement – only enough time so that I may witness true culture and breeding, at least before I marry."

"You want my family to educate you?" said Zhao, and there was a fond, delighted spark in his eye that was not at all kind. "My dear Azula, I'm afraid it simply cannot be."

"Father, I'm sure –"

"Do not take her side, Zhanu, simply to impress your intended!" snapped Zhao, and instantly the atmosphere changed, and Zhanu was throwing daggers at the old man through his eyes. "As touching as offer as it is, Azula, we cannot accept it. You are a firebender! To have us groom you for Court?"

Zhao laughed, long and luxuriously, and this time Jet made a real movement to approach. Zhanu saw this, saw the brief calculation in the man's gaze, the way his hand inched ever so slightly upwards to where his swords must be, strapped across his back. Saw it all and knew it all, and readied himself, as his father laughed blindly.

Azula had not moved, nor changed her expression. She was still smiling, staring at the small, glass-covered ornate coffee table before her, decorated with tin jewels and gold dust. A perfect example of all their wealth and splendor. Of everything they could lose.

"Oh Zhao, hypocrite of hypocrites…"

"What is that?" he asked, still with laughter on his face.

Jet had finally met eyes with Zhanu, and when the man refused to look away, Jet knew he suspected. Obediently and apologetically he retreated into the shadows, where he seethed and waited, hating to leave them breathing all this time.

"Oh, nothing. Just remembering a day, from my childhood," Azula smiled, awfully. "A beautiful sort of memory, when my father used to firebend openly in his courtyard. He had the most wonderful sparring partner, and they would light up the nights. The neighbors wouldn't even mind, it was so beautiful. His partner was very good, better than my father I used to think. But then one day he… disappeared."

"Probably to seek a better life," Zhao snapped. But Azula had him.

"I suppose. Still, it would be wonderful to find him again one day."

Zhao did not reply. He lowered himself back into his seat, slowly, never breaking eye contact with the young woman seated before him. She returned his gaze with an innocent, sweet smile and shimmering eyes, but the demon was there, writhing below the surface. Zhao stared for a long time, but his own demon had long used up its greater power, and was nothing to the cunning tongue of Azula. Long ago, perhaps, he may have outwitted her – or he may have slain her on the spot, or something of an equally rash nature. But he was old now, and he did not desire to so quickly lose what he had fought his way up to gain. He shifted uncomfortable beneath his real, red-fox fur cloak, and muttered:

"I suppose…we could give you some basic learning."

"Great father," said Zhanu quickly, taking Mai's hand again. "Perhaps you would like to study here as well, Mai of Niraj?"

"There would be no greater honor," even though there was no passion in her voice.

"Good. How long do you intend to study here?"

"Until we are married, I should think," said Azula swiftly.

"Well, that may make it a short time for you, Mai," said Zhanu softly, and to humor him Mai gave her rare, pink-lipped smile that she had never graced Zuko with. Zhanu grinned mightily and returned to the heiress of Agni. "And what of you, lady Azula? Are there any callers at your door?"

Jet stiffened in the background, and even without seeing him Azula knew it.

"None that I have interest in, as of yet," she replied smoothly, and Jet returned to brood in the dark. The conversation continued lightly for the course of the night; Azula laughed when it was fit to laugh, and nodded seriously when it was merited, and agreed or disagreed as was expected of her. She was the perfect, charming guest, and her host was equally charming. Zhao had left very soon to go to bed.

By the end of the night she had arranged a meeting with a few other Advisors at the end of the month, and if all went well she may, in fact, receive an invitation to Court, along with Zhao's family. She laughed gladly at the idea, noted graciously when her first lessons were soon to commence, and given a sincere good-bye – though not so sincere as Mai, who agreed to have Zhanu and his carriage drive her home for the night.

Azula's carriage was silent. Jet was staring hungrily out the window again. His mind was too fogged with Azula's devilry and tricks to work properly anymore, and he was beginning to forget the particular happiness he once had in _Balda Haram_, with friends who did not use or bait you.

"What are you thinking of, Jet?" she asked. She was keeping him beside her like a pet wolf. A ferocious, blood-seeking, undefeatable, horrifying wolf.

"I should have killed them," he growled. The light from the street lamps flashed across his face, momentarily distorting his features. Azula smiled at his twisted portrait and drew near to him.

"You know you mustn't, my warrior," she said, and lifted her lips to graze his jaw line. "We need them to achieve this. It is just a small sacrifice."

She was kissing down his neck in that wonderful, terrible way that Jet knew so well, that he could not refuse. His resistance was far less than it had once been, and he knew it; but this knowledge did not bother him as much anymore. He had blood for his blades now. Azula had seen to it.

He overcame her with his heat, and his strength, and his lust, sliding his hands up her smooth, white skin and pressing her down to the carriage seat. She did not stop him, only enticed him, breathe hot and dangerous in his ear as he left dark kisses at her throat.

"Do you think I'm beautiful, Jet?" she curled her arm around his neck, and he moved his body over her, torn with the coupled pleasure and guilt of it all.

"…Yes," he could not deny it anymore. She had given him a chance at living again, at escaping a life in solitude, a life of poverty and lies in _Balda Haram_. She had given him purpose.

"Tell me, then, my warrior," she purred, and Jet bared his teeth against her collarbone.

"You are so beautiful…Azula…"

It was the first time he had said her name, and the word was so foul in his mouth he hesitated for the first time in weeks. But Azula distracted him instantly by running her hands across his belt buckle, and slipping a bared leg over his thigh.

"And do you trust me?" she said, gazing straight up at him, fearless. He was so close to her that their noses touched, and he could see his own reflection in the deceitful golden pools of her eyes.

"Never," he hissed.

"Good," and she smiled the cruelest sort of smile.

And Jet began to doubt.

_**Break**_

Zuko must have awoken very late, though there was no way to tell the hour within the unchanging gloom of the Library. She must have drugged him again, for the pain in his chest was dull and distant. As he tried to raise himself from the mat, however, he found he had a far better level of movement than before, and wondered how long Katara had worked on him after he fell asleep.

His question was answered by a stifled mumble that came from the foot of the couch. Katara was slumped over the side of a very uncomfortable-looking chair, her face smashed against the wood and her arms hung limply at her sides, clearly and utterly exhausted. To the further bewilderment of Zuko, she seemed to have worked herself to the bone in order to faster heal him, and the floor around her was wet with water, too tired even to bend it back into the bucket.

It immediately bothered him that she was forced into so uncomfortable a position while he lounged on a couch, but luckily he knew better than to try and switch places with her. Looking around the room for aid, he caught a low gleam in one of the corners, and was able to make out the shape of a Fox-being, alert and ready for instruction.

"You, there."

The Fox looked at him intelligently. It did not occur to Zuko that, as a spirit-beast, the Fox probably did not eat or sleep – he assumed only that this Fox was a different one than had been in the room before. It was for the better that he did not know it was the same one, as it would have caused him unnecessary disquiet.

"Is there somewhere – somewhere she can lie down? Somewhere you can take her to sleep?"

_Yes. She refuses to leave your side, but we will take her if you wish it._

"…No," Zuko thought slowly, out loud. "I mean, wait… maybe you can make up a bed for her in here?"

_We can. We will._

The Fox left, and in his absence Zuko turned back to look at Katara, still lying in her chair. She was in an absolutely unattractive position, slouched there awkwardly on the frame, and judging from the angle of her niqab, her mouth was probably hanging open. His mouth curled into a smile and he had to laugh, inwardly, at the sight of her. If she knew he had seen her in such a state, she would have been mortally embarrassed.

As he looked at her, he found himself subconsciously comparing her to Mai. She was not pristine, not pale and perfect like Mai, not of her high class and culture. She was not the common picture of beauty and grace as so accepted in the Union; she was not civil, daughter of Acchai and their barbaric Kings.

Yet she was kind. She had no haughty airs, no striking, superior looks as Mai had, and as Zuko continued to compare he found his old love beginning to lose favor. Katara was kind, and shy, and humble, traits that Zuko rarely encountered in _Balda Haram_ nor anywhere else for that matter. It intrigued him, but also scorched him; for again, in the back of his mind, he was reminded to stay faithful to Mai.

The Foxes interrupted his thought, coming in by pairs, bearing all manner of soft bedding and cushion and pillows to create Katara's bed with. Even in the dim light, Zuko could tell that her mattress was to be a color-splashed confused mess of a thing, as the Fox-beings did not seem to care for matching, and had brought a rainbow of assorted hues. Purple pillows clashed alongside dim, orange blankets, and ever here and there a large, lime-green cushion – it almost made Zuko laugh to see the finished product, the huge, jumbled, comfy mess of bedding, lying right there in the middle of the floor. All this time Katara did not stir, nor make any sound in her sleep, not even when the Foxes came for her.

Zuko cringed and almost stopped them when they went to lift her off the chair, white teeth bared and cold in the dark. Yet they were exceedingly gentle with her, and in a moment she was in bed, still sleeping beautifully. It was the strangest sight Zuko would ever see, and he would remember it for as long as he lived: Katara, lying on the makeshift, multi-colored bed, hidden beneath blankets and her niqab, and absolutely peaceful beneath the watchful eyes of a dozen giant Foxes.

They left respectfully, as though they knew both of them would soon be asleep, and their services were no longer needed. The fact that they somehow inherently knew when the humans would be asleep or awake might have been a little disconcerting, given more thought, but Zuko was too tired for this. However, just as the last of the Foxes turned to leave, another thought struck Zuko.

"Wait…you are the ones who saved me, right?"

_We are the Runners. We found you. We carried you to the Library._

"So…so yes. Yes, Thank you, then," he managed. All the while the Fox stared at him, and never once did it blink.

_The sun made us. The sun made you. You are our brother._

"Oh," that was vaguely eerie, but Zuko passed it off without much concern. "That's…that's nice, then. If there's ever anything I can do, in return…"

_There is. But you are not strong enough for it yet._

Then the Fox turned and left the room, Katara sleeping soundly on her luxurious multi-colored bed. Zuko sat up for a while, unnerved, but eventually laid back down to sleep again.

He fell asleep looking at Katara, and wondering vaguely what she looked like without the niqab.


	19. Memories

"Zuko, comb your hair. You must look your best tonight."

"I don't_ want_ to go to Niraj. I _hate_ them. They smell like shoe polish and call me names."

Zuko slouched sourly in the chair as his mother helped pull on his boots. It was snowing heavily outside, and the windows were frosted white. On any other snowy day like this, he would be outside with the boys across the way, pretending to be earthbender soldiers and throwing great piles of snow over one another, caught in some epic, imagined battle. That, or digging through the ashes of the fireplace, to find the few perfect pieces of coal for the neighborhood girl Jin, whom everyone adored. The boy who got her coal for her snowman's eyes first was sure to merit a kiss on the cheek, despite the fact that Azula and her friends might quickly make a puddle out of the poor thing.

"What do you mean, Zuko?" said his mother, with the concern that only mothers know. She took Zuko's comb from beside him and began to tame the hair herself, as there was something obviously bothering her son.

"I mean they're – they're horrible. I hate them. And then Zhanu might be there, and he's the worst, he calls me fire-breather and – and _huo-rén_!"

"Zuko!" his mother gasped, sharply. "I told you never to say –"

"But _he_ says it to me, mom!" Zuko implored, and his wide, young eyes were heartbreaking. "It's a bad word, but he says it to me, and its not _fair _–"

"Shh, my son," said Ursa, taking him gently in her arms before he grew teary-eyed. "It's alright. I am so sorry they bully you…but do you want to know something?"

"What?" Zuko sniffed, and Ursa smoothed down his hair with one white palm. The corners of her eyes were not yet crinkled with age or use, as they would be by the time Zuko left for _Balda Haram_, and the Academy of lies. She was still young and innocent and beautiful, and terribly naïve.

"They bully you, Zuko, because they're jealous of you," she smiled, and her young son gazed at her in a confused, childlike way. "They're jealous of you because you are so strong and brave. They're jealous of you because you don't bully them back. You don't have to. You are already stronger than them, you see."

"…Ok, mom," said Zuko timidly, though he may have still been too young to fully understand his mother's words. "But I do want to, sometimes. When they get really mean."

"Oh, Zuko…" said Ursa sadly, and lifted him to his feet so she could straighten his dress shirt. "I wish we didn't have to go tonight! If only your father…you're right, you see. They are very cruel to you. I wish they would get what they deserved! But we must never be cruel ourselves, Zuko. You must always remember that. What is it your Uncle always tells you?"

"Do to others what you'd want done to you," Zuko quoted, in a shorter fashion than his Uncle probably would have said. "And, um…forgive your enemies."

"Ah, so you _do _listen to my proverbs, hm?"

Iroh stood smiling in the doorway, younger and dashing-looking in his dress clothes, beard trimmed neatly. His son stood just as nobly beside him, dark hair pulled back from his face, and the resemblance between the two men was uncanny. Lu Ten was handsome and bright-eyed, and would have made a Prince among men.

"Uncle! Lu Ten!" instantly Zuko's fears and worries were gone; he ran to embrace his Uncle Iroh, who laughed lovingly at the boy's enthusiasm, and quickly turned him over to his son.

Lu Ten was already in his teens, but the age difference did not seem to bother the two boys. Zuko leapt on his cousin with brotherly gusto and commenced to ask him an impossible array of questions about what he was doing at the Academy, and if he was going to be in the Army unit soon. Before Lu Ten could finish answering any of the excited boy's questions, another one would be flying out.

"And when you get to the Army, will you be an Admiral? Or will you –"

"Alright, you two get into the hall and wait for us there," said Ursa, ushering them out the door. Lu Ten grinned, picked up Zuko, swung him underneath his arm, and carried the boy backwards and laughing out the door.

Ursa laughed beautifully as they exited, Zuko's face an inversed smile from where he looked back at her around Lu Ten's side. Iroh made his way beside her, silent and troubled in the candle-light.

"Just like brothers, aren't they?" said Iroh, fondly.

"Oh, Iroh," said Ursa, and suddenly she raised her hands to clasp them at her heart, and her laughter faded. "Why must we do this? I cannot take much more."

She put her face in her hands, but dare not shed a tear, for she had just put on her make-up, and this would surely upset Ozai. Iroh placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, and guided her toward the door.

"Do not worry," he said, with his deep, rich, comforting tone that Zuko loved so well. "I will make an excuse tonight to leave early. And they are only dinners, after all…"

Ozai was tall and crow-like, his long black hair pulled back tight, his ferocious golden eyes gleaming out intently. As well-managed and wrinkle-free as his suit was, it could not conceal a veiled instability in the way he moved about, as though at any moment he would lose control of himself. He had not always seemed to dark, of course; the trace of youthful joys still lingered at the edges of his mouth, and they deepened when he laid eyes one his beautiful wife, Ursa. But beneath it there was the dark edge, and the rumor of something gone wrong.

Azula was dressed in an adorable white and yellow frock, and she was standing tall and proud, despite the fact she despised dresses on principle. Her eyes were only on her father, and she did not even cast a glance at her mother and brother when they walked into the hall. The butler of the house opened the door to let them out into the snow, respectively handing a bright, blue umbrella to the Lady Ursa beforehand, to shield herself from the weather. Zuko was beside Lu Ten all the way out, both talking non-stop about knives and fights and earth-wrestling and other such masculine sports as the Union provided, heedless of the disdain in Ozai's face for them both.

Uncle and Lu Ten had their own carriage, of course, whereas the family of four would be sharing one. They all piled inside in a rather uncoordinated fashion, save for Azula, who was always perfect in her form. Just as Ozai was about to close the door he turned to look at his two children, sitting quietly on the carriage-seat.

"Have you two remembered your presents?" he said, looking pointedly at Zuko, who was empty-handed. The boy glanced down at his feet shamefully.

"I….I guess I forgot…"

"_I _remembered, father," said Azula proudly, showing the wrapped gift up to Ozai, who let slip a small grin for her. Zuko felt his face flush, and had to tramp back through the snow and into the house, alone, to retrieve his present before the carriage could start off.

The dinner was incessantly boring. Zuko had been to the Niraj Estate two times before, and always it was the same green-lined room, same satin table clothe and silver plates, and same dull-eyed waiters bringing various dishes that all tasted exotic and weird and Zuko never really liked. He preferred his mother's cooking to anything, but he couldn't say this, as it was a shame to have the lady of the house cook the meals. The fact that the family of Agni could not afford a cook was swept under the rug.

The children were somewhat separated from the adults by a huge, ornate center-piece made to look like a badger-mole, and Lu Ten and Zuko had been seated across from each other to avoid unnecessary disruption. As though that would stop them.

Lu Ten had folded up a piece of paper into a funky little triangle, and they were playing a dinner-game much frowned upon by the adults. When no one was looking, Lu Ten flicked the paper expertly, so that it slid across the wood surface and stopped, just right, balanced on the very edge of the table.

_Four points!_ he mouthed victoriously to Zuko, who stuck his tongue out at him and waited for the next moment when no one was looking, so he could try for some points himself.

"Hey, _huo-rén_," hissed Zhanu suddenly, from his place beside Zuko. "Our cook's chicken coop caught fire yesterday. Was it you?"

"No! And shut up!" Zuko said, but softly because he didn't want the adults to hear. But Zhanu continued, delighted in baiting the poor firebender.

"I heard you burn up people's cats. I hear all firebender's like to do that. I hear their stupid too. So stupid they can't even tie their own shoes –"

"Hey, you pimple-faced prune," said Lu Ten, bluntly, to Zhanu. The boy looked up, surprised. "Keep talking; maybe some day you'll say something intelligent."

It was the simplicity of the insult that blindsided Zhanu, and he slunk back grumbling in his chair. The rest of the dinner passed without much incident, besides Azula smashing some potato into one of Zhanu's cousins faces, and then easily sliding out of it by saying she dropped the bowl. The occasion was to celebrate the birthday of the Niraj's youngest daughter, whom Zuko had not yet met, as she was kept away by her parents for safety and grooming.

It was the first time he had seen Mai of Niraj, and even then he thought she was pretty. She looked at him through young, wide, black eyes as he handed the present to her, and when everyone was turned away he asked:

"What is your name?"

"Why do you care?" she stated bluntly. "You're that Agni boy. The one Zhanu says breathes fire. Like a lizard, right?"

Her words were cold and sharp. Zuko had to stutter a response.

"I…I can breathe fire, but I don't."

"That's evil. That's like the Devil. He breathes fire."

"I'm not the Devil!" shouted Zuko, but she only looked at him impassively.

"Whatever. I still believe Zhanu," and she turned and left.

Zuko looked on, dejected. Within the dream, he realized he'd forgotten how cruel she was.

_**Break**_

"Zuko? _Mitra-Sahadev_?"

He opened his eyes to find Katara shaking his arm gently. She had another blankets slung over her shoulder and she looked ready to depart somewhere.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she told him. "But I wanted to take you down to the spring today, if you can move well enough."

"…Yes. I can try," said Zuko after a moment, and with careful movement he brought himself up to sitting position. His body was still stiff, but he found, to his endless enjoyment, that he could somewhat turn to the side, and it did not strain so much to sit up. He could still not entirely straighten his back and stretch his rib-muscles, but he was thankful in any case.

"How do you feel?" he wondered if she was going to ask him that question every time he awoke.

"I had a strange dream," he said it with the last lines of his mother's face still drifting before him, a beautiful sort of ghost. Perhaps it was this part of the dream, still hanging over him, that made him mention it to the woman of Acchai.

"What of?" she asked, picking up her chair and placing it on the other side of the room. Her pillowed bed was still on the floor, and if she wondered where it had come from she showed no sign of it. Zuko raised his good hand to rub the back of his neck, gaining coherency as the dream finally left him, and realized what a personal thing the dream actually was.

"It's…it's not important," he managed. She cast him a wary glance and shrugged beneath her sari.

"We have little else to talk about," she said, coming to his side and placing his arm around her shoulders. As she lifted him to his feet (Zuko had been lying down for nearly three days and was unaccustomed to it) he placed some of his weight against her, feeling oddly vulnerable.

"Well…" he tried, bravely. "It was about my mother."

She put a hand on his bared chest to stabilize him as he stood, and as her palm pressed again his skin he almost thought she felt her shiver.

"Then it was a good dream" she said gently, looking up at him. Again, Zuko was staring straight on into those sparkling blue eyes. Why hadn't he noticed them when Aang had?

"I suppose…"

He straightened himself up a little, straining his muscles a bit, and found his body did not look as bruised or beaten as it had before. He wondered again how diligently she had worked on him, but decided he would never know, as she would have the grace not to tell him.

"I used to dream about my mother," said Katara softly, leading him out into the hall, where a Fox was waiting to escort them both. "I hardly remember her, you know…but I still dream of her face, sometimes."

"I'm sorry," said Zuko, watching the Fox beside him with slight suspicion. "What happened to her? I mean – I don't want to pry. Acchai is a strange place to me, and you and your brother…"

He hesitated, and she hesitated, but then again that might have been because they were descending some stairs and she had to lead Zuko over to the railing. So far he was managing fairly well, if only slowly, as the limited movement in his upper body, and the soreness in his legs, was all rather crippling.

"It's alright," she seemed very safe and open, which completely contradicted the tense, perfected portrait of Mai. "She died when I was very young. She was…an amazing woman, though."

"How is that?" she was cradled beneath his arm still, as a secondary support, and it occurred to him that she had probably never been this close to any man, besides perhaps her brother, in her life. His bare-skinned state alone was probably an offense to their customs, but Katara had played it cool, as though she knew such things could not be avoided, and furthermore did not despise him for it.

"I'm sure you've started to wonder already," she looked at him with sad, blue eyes. "What with my brother being so close to the General, and what he said to you – about our father."

"That Jeong-Jeong killed him?" she looked startled, and he realized the bluntness of the statement too late, immediately withdrawing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"No, no, it's fine," said Katara in a rush, as though she wished for offense even less than he. The descended the steps with slow caution, and he found she had led him into a smoothly-paved, stone hall. "It's…it's just hard, for all of us. This is not a place of forgiveness, the land of Acchai."

"Not many places are," said Zuko lowly, as he shifted his weight and moved slowly after her. She looked at him worriedly, but then continued.

"I was not old enough to remember her much…. But Sokka was. From what he knows, there was a great scandal," for some reason her eyes were sparkling above her niqab, as though she was smiling. "My mother had given Fong three daughters, but he needed a son. He was very…short with her, in those years."

She grew silent, adjusting his arm around her shoulders as she helped him down the hall. The air was growing cooler, and it was obvious they were drawing near the spring. The Fox walked on before them, glowing faintly in the darkness of the Library.

"But then Sokka was born?" said Zuko cautiously, and the smile came back into her eyes.

"Yes. But he is not Fong's child," she stated, proudly. "Neither am I. Our mother forsook him, and laid with her first love – a Prince of the Aurora Tribes, in line to be Chief. His name was Hakoda, and they had long loved each other."

"Is that why they call Sokka a Prince?" she nodded happily, and seemed to draw closer to him as they walked.

"Fong, of course, knew of the sin the minute he was born – but Hakoda was stronger than him then, and he dare not raise a complaint. He beat my mother soundly for it, though…and he never treated Sokka well."

"Hakoda was your father too, then?" he was trying to direct her away from bad memories, but the story was also so bewildering and captivating. As wild and barbaric as Zuko thought the people of Acchai, he could not deny their passion for life and love and war, so raw and true and enticing.

"Yes! And I am proud of it. Even the men under Lord Fong, even the General himself, they all loved Hakoda the most. If he had taken it upon himself, he may have overthrown Fong… but he was not such a man. After I was born, though, Fong could not stand the shame…"

It was obvious where it was going. The sorrow and regret in her voice was plain, and Zuko knew even better of the easily wounded pride of the lord of Al-Abhad.

"I'm sorry," said Zuko, as kindly as he could. She raised her hand and squeezed his own, the one hanging from her shoulder, in a friendly way.

"Sokka never knew exactly what happened," she said softly. "But he saw Jeong-Jeong afterward. He did not know the General had done it until later, but even then he loved him far more than Fong. He spent most of his years with the General, protecting our holdings in Acchai."

"And what of Toph?"

"Oh! That was my mother's last great feat!" exclaimed Katara giddily. "Afterwards, Fong locked her away, and no one was ever to see her, save for her children and husband – and her doctor. From what Sokka tells he was a good, smart man. His name was Bei, and Toph was his child."

Zuko couldn't help but smile along with Katara and compliment her mother's courage. The spirit of a woman who would dare twice defy Fong in such a personal regard was clearly a woman to admire, especially in Acchai. Katara seemed very pleased that he showed such high esteem for her mother, and her eyes were shining again as she led him down the cold stone hall towards the spring.

The Fox stopped at the doorway like a sentinel, and remained unmoved until they left again, sometime later. The room where the spring flowed was a carved out cave of stone, deep beneath the heat of the Desert, and unlike the rest of the halls this room was brightly lit. Torches hung in every corner, though what kept them burning was a mystery, for they never needed oil as long as Zuko was there. The stone floor stopped very abruptly in, met by a shallow covering of water that grew steadily deeper as you went forth, evolving into a large, deep, dark blue pool. At the far, distant side, a waterfall was trickling down from the rocks, shimmering like diamonds in the torchlight, the endless source of the spring.

She had him lay down in the cool water where it was about level with his waist, and rested his head on her lap. This would have been ten times more awkward if Zuko wasn't so tired and stiff from the walk down already. She began by dipping her hands into the water on either side of him, and the liquid began to give off a faint glow; a feeling entered Zuko's body not unlike the one she had induced in him before, the cool sensation over feverish skin. Only this time the water was wrapping him entirely, and he felt weightless and numb in the most blissful sort of way.

Katara talked to him as she healed, exploring the broken path of his ribs and trying to urge them gently back into place, shifting sometimes to his broken arm, or to massage his temple in that beautiful, soothing way she had.

"What is your home like?" she asked him, and her voice was sweet beneath the distant sound of falling water. "In the Union?"

"My home," said Zuko slowly, and realized he thought _Balda Haram_ more of his home than the Agni Estate, where he had spent his early years. "My home…it's very different from this place. Here you seem to gain power through conquest. In the Union…it's all about what family you are born into. And whether or not you're a bender."

"Are benders very powerful in the Union?" Katara was genuinely intrigued. She had never left Fong's dwelling at Al-Abhad before, and had heard only limited stories from Sokka. Zuko closed his eyes as she lifted her hands to massage his temples again, easing his stress.

"If you are an earthbender, yes," said Zuko lowly, feeling the tips of her fingers against his head and the cool flow of the water. "But they think waterbenders and firebenders are all…beneath them. Like criminals. Airbenders…they just don't live very long in the Union."

"That's terrible," Katara breathed, but then corrected herself. "Acchai is not much better, of course, and airbenders are not well treated…but a man is able to rise in power, if he works hard enough."

"That is what I like about Acchai," said Zuko confidently. "It is dangerous, but men are more free to live their own lives – though I don't understand how they treat women here. It seems barbaric and cruel, to use them as payment to settle debts."

"My brother feels the same, and many others," said Katara sadly. "But as long as men like Fong rule Acchai, there is little we can do. Toph and I have always defied our father, but it has been in small ways. Learning to bend, for example."

"And the head covering?" Zuko finally asked, as it had nagged him incessantly. "What is that for?"

"It is our only symbol of respect. A man must learn to love the woman not by her beauty, but by her grace, and the intelligence in her words. I do not despise the niqab…though I do wish I did not have to wear it quite so much."

"I see," even though he did not truly understand, and still had the greatly pressing need to see her face uncovered, though probably only from curiosity.

"Sokka says the women do not wear the niqab in the Union," she said gently, and somehow Zuko did not immediately think of Mai. "Is it true?"

"Yes," said Zuko. "Women walk with their faces uncovered, and perhaps their arms…but nothing else. Only those who are engaged, or intended, cover their faces…and this is usually very close to the wedding day."

"Do you have an intended, back home?" for some reason she asked the question very quietly, as though she was unsure whether or not she really wanted to know the answer.

"I –" Zuko hesitated, seeing Mai's cruel, perfect face before him again. "I'm not sure. I pledged my love to her before I left for Acchai…and implored her to wait for me."

"What did she say?" her voice sounded closer to his ear. Zuko, who had been talking all this time with closed eyes, opened them finally and looked out across the still water.

"She…she said nothing."

He chanced to look up at her from between her hands, and found she was already looking down at him from behind the niqab. Before he could break the gaze, she asked quietly:

"Do you think about her much?"

He could feel the edges of her soft sari against his shoulder, as she reached down to work on his ribcage again. It was completely and utterly distracting, in a way that unnerved Zuko.

"…Not as much as I used to. Acchai has changed me, I think."

"If you say you like Acchai…" said Katara cautiously, and her hands slid up Zuko's sides, and the healing water was soaking his skin wonderfully. "Then maybe it is not such a bad thing?"

"…Maybe."

Zuko laid in the water for a long time, sharing stories of the Union with Katara. Most of them were fond, of his time with Lu Ten and his Uncle; he ignored such stories of his home life, save mentions of his mother, for these were not good memories. He did his best to answer her questions, about _Balda Haram_ and the Academy, and his friend Jet, and SmellerBee and Longshot. In all of it she showed much interest, saying that she thought the Union a very mysterious place. She shared her own stories with him, too: stories of her older sister Ravi, and Inau, and Vulha, and their funny, pompous ways; of escaping into the outer pomengranate fields, and their childhood days with the General, and the troubles they had gotten into with their servant friend Song. They were all delightfully bright stories, though Zuko knew hidden beneath them was the selfish malice of Fong, and the ever-present threat of danger and war.

Yet her words had brought out a new doubt in Zuko's heart – for in light of the friendships he had made with Aang, and Sokka, and the respect he had earned in the General's army, he was beginning to realize his own strength, and the corruption of the Union. Honor he had before pledged to his family name, and therefore he had only little; but here in Acchai a man was tested by his own actions, and Zuko had to admit, he enjoyed this system immensely.

And he was also doubting Mai. Why had he always loved her? It had been a star-crossed love, an unfulfilled love, and had the lure of it only been her inaccessibility? Despite the rare word of concern he drew from her, she had shown him only cruelty and disdain. Why had he ever allowed himself to endure her treatment? She was probably already married to Zhanu.

But what if she _was_ waiting for him? And what if, when he returned to the Union, she was standing there waiting for him, and he had forsaken and forgotten her?

But he could not forsake her or forget her. She commanded his realm of thought, didn't she? Who else could hope to compare to her?

"It is time to go," Katara's voice was like music, as she got down into the water and helped Zuko to his feet, all the while he wondered of her face, and saw her deep blue eyes before him.

He managed much better going back, though the staircase was a bit of a challenge. It was odd, of course, how Wan Shi Tong had not intercepted them yet; but Katara put her trust in the Foxes to keep them safe from the spirit's poor humor. Zuko did not know of the great Owl, and Katara had not yet had a mind to mention it, which may in fact be their undoing.

When she laid him back on the bed, a sack of salted meat and a jug of water was waiting on the side-table, along with plattery and utensils The Foxes had brought these things, though what unfortunate soul they had stolen it from would remain a mystery. Katara had asked them not to steal from Jeong-Jeong's caravan, which they assumed was still moving toward Masabi, but still they brought her things that could only have been found in the vicinity of humans. Zuko ate a little, as Katara adjusted her grand, multi-colored bed.

"I think tomorrow you will be well enough, and I will move into the room next door," she told him, and Zuko could only nod in consent as he ate. When he finished, she took the plattery from him to go wash in the spring, leaving a Fox to watch him.

"Goodnight, _mitra-Sahadev_," she said gently, turning to leave.

"Please, Lady…" said Zuko tiredly. "Just…call me Zuko. It's less of a mouthful."

"…Yes, Zuko," she said hesitantly. "And you may call me Katara."

He nodded as she left, and he rolled over to couch. He could not go to sleep, however, until sometime later – when he was sure she had returned, and was lying peacefully on her own bed.


	20. A Savage

FYI: The barbarian language is me doing my best to translate, and then transliterate Chinese. It is the Chinese language, what… so-and-so will be speaking. The savage's dress is based off of various African and Indian tribal costumes.

_**Break **_

Aang turned around from his position on Appa's head, the second day out into the venture, to find Toph clinging for dear life to the saddle, arms wrapped spider-like around a leather handle, eyes wide and terrified in the morning light. The sight stirred both pity and mirth in him, and he had to stifle a laugh before coming to her aid.

"You aight, ma'am?" he asked, getting up expertly from his place at Appa's head. He had adapted quickly to sky-bison flight, perhaps because he was an airbender; Toph had most definitely not.

"I don't like flying very much," said Toph shortly, and the death-grip she had on the saddle was proof of this. Aang climbed up over the saddle-edge and sat down beside her, leaving Appa to fly on alone (they really had very little idea of where they were going anyway).

"You jus' gotta relax, is all. Ain't nothin' gonna happen, see?"

"Easy for you to say," said Toph bitterly, refusing to release her grip on the leather. "_You_ can see. _You_ aren't soaring above the good, sweet earth in the dark with no idea what'll happen next, _you_ can see danger coming from up here if you want, _you_ can –"

"Alrigh', alrigh', you're righ'," said Aang, "Jus'…I don' wan' you ta' be scared is all.

"'Ere, Why don' you take me hand an' let go a lil' bit? Won't be so bad, ya' see," he extended his hand so that it just touched hers, so that she knew where he was. A moment of indecision flickered over the earthbenders face, and then she took the airbenders hand.

"There ya'are. Not so bad, righ'?"

"…If you say so," muttered Toph, unconvinced. For awhile she remained in the same curled up position, until she finally realized that maybe nothing _was _going to happen, and extended her legs out onto the saddle seat. "…_God_ I miss the earth…"

"Yeah, well, ain't got too long ta' wait til' we down agin," said Aang encouragingly. Warning her before he did so, he released her hand and leaned back against the saddle, lying his arm down behind her. Now, Aang was not forward or pushy when it came to girls; in fact, at the moment he was simply naïve and exhausted, and with the blind logic that only men possess, he chose the moment to lie against the saddle. The position he put himself in was in serious danger of being quickly misinterpreted: his arm was very nearly wrapped around her, though not quite – she was still leaning forwards, silent in her emerald sari. She never could have known what he was doing anyway, as she was officially blind at the moment, and knew only that he was safely beside her if she needed something to grab. There was no awkwardness in the situation because neither of them knew something was wrong, and Toph continued the conversation quite normally.

"So when we get there, and if I find this, underground place…what happens then? What is it Sokka told you to do?"

"Seek the sign o' the Lotus," repeated Aang blandly, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

"What's that mean?"

"Hell if a' know. Oh – sorry 'bout the curse, ma'am,"

"Don't worry. Hell, I curse more than any man I know, sometimes."

"Really? Righ' bold a' you, ma'am."

"Will you stop calling me ma'am?" said Toph irritably, turning her head around a little to face him, even though it would obviously do no good. "I hate being called ma'am. Just call me Toph."

"Sure thing, Toph," said Aang eagerly. He had no desire to offend her, though it wasn't from fear of her brother so much as curiosity for her. He had never met someone who could see and bend with their feet before, and it still amazed him.

"When we get there, you'll probably have to do some like…spirit-stuff," she was saying, as the airbender tried to get a grip on what kind of person she was, and how to best befriend her. He did not, of course, already know that she considered him a friend – Aang was very willing to please, but when it came to girls, he was also pretty clueless.

"Maybe, don' know, ta' tell the truth," he said. Toph bent over and began to pick at her fingernails in an idle, bored sort of way. She had no earth to bend and no sister to irritate, and she was flying un-harnessed on the back of a giant, airborne bison, unable to even se the sun in the sky – but besides her one relapse, none of it seemed to be bothering her. She had an incredible fortitude that Aang envied and admired – but before he could dwell on that Toph turned her head again.

"Are you looking at me?" she said, and there was suspicion in her misted, blind eyes. They were oddly captivating eyes, really – for as unseeing as they were, they could still betray her emotion vividly, and the contrast was utterly distracting to poor Aang.

"Nothin'," he tried, and was suddenly inspired to speak again. "Ya' know, Toph…s'weird. You ain't seem put off none by me bein' th' Avatar."

"Should I be?" said Toph warily. Aang thought about the question for awhile, watching her closely, and felt an odd feeling of belonging overcome him.

"Nah, ya' shouldn'," he said, and there was a grin on his face that she couldn't see. "Is nice, tho', havin' you not judge me fo' it an' all."

"Well, I do think your accent's a little funny," said Toph, elbowing him in the side. Aang grinned wider and Toph leaned back, finally, only to find his arm already there. She sat up a little in surprise and Aang quickly began to withdraw, knowing what a forward and uncouth thing it was.

"Sorry, er, Toph – didn' mean, uh, I mean was leanin' back jus' now an' –"

"Keep it there," said Toph abruptly, blinding placing his arm back where it was and settlingagainst it like a pillow. "It's more comfortable anyway. But don't get any ideas aside from that, twinkletoes."

"'Course not," said Aang, forgetting momentarily about the rushing air and clouds all around them, and the unbridled Appa, and the approaching mountains. Toph laid against his arm and told him great stories about her sister and her, similar to the ones Katara had told Zuko, though not identical. Aang listened with avid interest, peasant child as he was, and his questions seemed to delight her. By noon they were elbowing each other fondly and playing stupid games, all the while breaking into stories and discussions, like two old schoolmates reunited.

And all the while, thought Toph dare not reveal it, she was acutely aware of exactly where he was on the saddle – and he was keenly aware of the emotion in her eyes, and the tones in her voice.

_**Break **_

"…Great."

Sokka cussed violently and kicked at a rock in the cliff-side. It was bigger and more stable than he supposed, and he only succeeded in stubbing his toe and hopping around cursing for a few minutes, all before the changeless gaze of the Fox.

The Fox had carried the Prince like lightning through the Desert, a living shadow across the sands, faster than any beast Sokka had ever rode. All the Prince could hope to do was keep his arms fastened tight about the spirit's neck and pray that the precious scrolls in his satchel did not get carried off by the screaming wind. Over treacherous rivers and ravines the Fox had leapt, covering grass and stone beneath its feet in flying strides that could have overcome the fastest hawk. Every now and then Sokka had chanced to glance around, though rarely as it made him dizzy; he though he could see mountains, then a valley, and then all around them there was lush, rich, green trees and standing water. He wondered if they had passed through some sort of swamp, as he caught the rancid stench of one on the wind.

All the way to the ocean-side the Fox had borne him, true to it's word. Here on the high, endless grey cliffs Sokka had dismounted, wobbly and unsteady from the ride, but still bearing his full satchel of scrolls. The world around him was a sight to behold then: behind him an endless, green and brown jungle stretched, so soaked with rain and ocean-bound rivers it had become a seething swamp-like place. Trees grew there taller than any of Fong's great pinnacles or towers, great curling brown giants with leaves bigger than a grown man. Roots cut pathways through the waters and made huge arcs and bridges in the earth, a natural and thriving maze. What creatures dwelled therein would take a lifetime to describe, from the miles of crawling fire-insects, to the screaming puff-birds, to wolves and jaguars and catgators – none of which Sokka really desired to encounter.

Before him stretched the ocean like an infinite, churning blue blanket, raw and wrathful beneath a grey sky. He had seen the ocean once before, long ago, with Jeong-Jeong; it had been shortly after the death of his father, and it was here the General had explained whom the Aurora Tribe was in relation to the peoples of the world, and why they were so veiled in secrecy.

"Is this all?" there were no shrines, no towers peaking from the water. Everything was covered and swallowed by the waves. The Fox looked on in silence and indifference.

_There is nothing above the water._

Sokka was beginning to dislike the Fox-beings. Something in their nature unnerved him, and he was not so willing to trust them as Katara, hundreds of miles away beneath the sand of the boiling Desert.

"Alright, well…there has to be some sort of sign, somewhere. Do you think you can search up and down the coast, maybe? If I search the jungle –"

_Very well. We will return tomorrow morning._

The Fox was already gone before Sokka had heard his last words. In mild anxiety and discomfort he looked around the abandoned cliffs, cold and desolate now that he was alone, and muttered:

"Yeah…uh…see you later, too….demon-dog, thing…"

Irritated and awkward, despite the fact there was no one around to label him as being awkward, he went to his satchel to check on the condition of the scrolls.

What he got was a face-full of white fur, and a high, loving lemur chirp.

"_Momo_! You little fucking – how did you –"

Then, in abrupt despair, he realized he had stopped to unchain Appa for Aang and Toph before he left. He had left the satchel unsupervised on the sand, and it wasn't like the Fox would have told him about a lemur crawling into his bag.

"I'll never escape you, will I?"

Momo chirped and settled on the Prince's shoulder, ears twisting around delightfully.

By nightfall, Sokka was so sick of the swamp he could've killed himself.

He had found nothing. He was covered in mud, smelly as all rotting hell, and was the chew-toy of several thousand mosquitoes. The sides of his neck and arm were dotted with red bites, and the fact that every time he tried to sit down a fire-ant chose to bite his rear didn't help at all. Miserably he tramped through his last frothy brown mud-puddle to reach a scrap of seemingly-dry, moss-covered island beneath the low arc of some gigantic twisting root. Leaving Momo to guard the satchel, Sokka pulled out his short knife and went to seek some firewood.

He looked ghostly beneath the massive leaves and branches of the jungle-swamp trees. The place had probably never felt a human footfall, not for centuries at least, and he was passing through the silence like a phantom – albeit a loud phantom, who stumbled down and got soaked and cursed quite often, and upset several nest of birds and moles along his way.

He found a niche between a few trees were a cash of old, dry deadwood was hidden, a lucky find in any case, and had a hell of a time carrying it back to his camp. Momo was some help, in that the eager little lemur had collected several small sticks for tinder, and a bunch of rock.

"Where's that firebender when you need him, aye?" said Sokka sideways to Momo, as he struck the flint and rocks and tried to get a spark. Momo looked at him through wide, innocent eyes, as if he knew this remark was Sokka's way of saying he was still worried for Zuko.

When the fire was finally lit, and the sun was dangerously low, Sokka stalked off into the gathering darkness to find a meal for the night. He knew it was possible to eat insects and grubs, and that if he tore up any rotting piece of wood nearby he was sure to find both in plenty – but he wanted to avoid this option at all costs. Jeong-Jeong had long ago taught him how to survive on his own in such environments, and as he came to a particularly deep and winding pool in the jungle, his mouth watered with the promise of fish (even if they weren't all that fresh-water). His fishing pole was of the string of his satchel and two sticks, one long and strong, the other curved and sharpened to a hook-point.

It took him three hours to catch something, for half the time he had to beware of catgators, and stayed off the bank whenever possible. As long and tedious as it was he knew it was worth it, as his meal wouldn't be fighting on the way down or trying to crawl up again later. Yet when he returned to the campsite, pathetic catch of fish in hand, he was still exhausted and irritable.

"Momo! If you want anything to eat, you better –"

He stopped, realizing Momo was not curled up by his satchel, and that no happy chirp was there to greet him. He heard the stick crunch behind him like a thunderclap.

He whirled, like lightning himself, the black blade out and glimmering and seeking its hidden foe; but before he could even get a good look at the man, a leathered fist smashed across his jaw and spun his head to the right. Still unfazed, he regrouped and came to strike again – only at that moment a foot crashed into the sensitive space between his legs, and he let out a halted, pitiful cry of pain before falling to his back. When his eyes stopped spinning, he saw the spear-point before him and knew he was caught – but he was a Prince of the Aurora Tribes, and he looked on his enemy without fear.

At first, Sokka thought he had been downed by a demon, some terrible being escaped from the darkest regions of the Spirit World; but as it raised it's spear towards his neck, he realized with faint wonder that, as evil and twisted a thing as was before him, it was still a man.

He was wearing a huge, wooden, red and black mask that hung all the way down to his waist, so mighty and ferocious a thing it was; horns were curling up from the top of it, black and dull in the firelight, and . It was crafted to look like some hollow-eyed, bloody, fanged monster of a thing, the jaw hanging down and open and ready to devour, the long tufts of moose-lion mane branching out all around it like a thousand grasping claws. Real carnivore teeth were stuck into its jaw, and needles and thorns jutted from the wooden surface. The rest of the man was hardly clothed, with fabric made of banana leaves and moose-lion furs; huge, chains of beads and shells and fishbones hung down around his neck, his wrists and ankles were wrapped with leather bindings, feet bare against the swampy earth.

"_Nin shi shei_?" the wild man hissed. Sokka was not afraid; he had been at spear-point before, in his countless years with Jeong-Jeong – only, of course, the spear now belonged to a creature more savage than any one of the General's men. He gestured the blade at Sokka again and spat: "_Jiang-hua_!"

Sokka knew the barbarian language, vaguely; he had never used it much, as most of Jeong-Jeong's men understood enough of _Gev_, the common tongue, to communicate. Still he knew his basics, and as the savage repeated his question he managed to blurt out:

"_Wo shi…peng you_."

"_Nin he-chu lai-zi_?"

"_Wo zhu…_" Sokka started to mutter, completely concerned with the spear in his face. "_Wo zhu zai, Acchai_?"

"Acchai?" said the savage tensely, and suddenly Sokka realized there was something strange about the tone of the man's voice. It was not very deep or strained, though it was strong, and the pitch seemed too high. Was he talking to a boy? "You speak _Gev_, then?"

"Yes…please, I come on behalf of the Avatar, if that means anything to you –"

"The Avatar?" now he knew there was something wrong. The man – or boy? – hesitated a moment, and then slowly lifted the spear-point from Sokka's neck. "You have seen him? He is real?"

"Uh – yes, yes, he is. His name is Aang. He's an airbender," he said it before he realized how absurdly stupid it was to commit so much information to a stranger. The savage, however, seemed content with the answer, and placed his spear aside.

"I feared as much…"

Then the savage propped the spear against the tree-root, and swiftly removed his all-consuming mask. The Prince blinked stupidly and wondered if he had drunk an cactus-juice.

It was a woman.

And if Sokka's lower order of things was correct, she was gorgeous.

Her skin was deeply tanned to a rich, pure golden color, and Sokka could see miles of it, legs and arms and stomach bared to firelight. There was a tight, short brown loincloth at her hips, held up with a thick belt of gold and white shells, and her breasts were wrapped in softened, woven banana leaves; besides this, however, she was revealed to an extent that Sokka had never seen a woman revealed before. Save for the bands of red leather on her wrists, and circles of gold on her upper limb, her arms were bare and strong-looking, able to bear the heavy rock-spear. Her naked legs were sturdy and long and absolutely voluptuous, with painted symbols on her thigh and bindings at her ankles, her stomach smooth and firm. Her endless chestnut hair flowed across her bone and bead necklaces like a shadow, and her sweet face, though marred with white and red war paint, was strikingly beautiful.

Sokka lay there before her with his mouth hanging open like a fish. She didn't seem to notice.

"I am Suki, of the Kyoshi-Shamans. Who are you?"

"S – Sokka," his voice had gone up a few octaves, and he coughed shortly to get it back down. He was trying desperately not to look at her round thighs, or her hidden breast, or any other part of her for that matter. "Prince of…of the Aurora Tribes, for what its worth…wait – did you say Kyoshi?"

"Does it mean something to you?" she said shortly, and emboldened by the word Sokka brushed himself off and stood, wondering whether or not it would be wise to take up his sword again. It was lying beside him, in clear view, but he decided against provoking the woman.

"Yes. I've read about it, in one of the scrolls from the Library –"

"Library?" she said, stiffly, as though he was playing a trick. "What are you talking about? No one has heard of Kyoshi since the judgment and the Wave. How can you know of it?"

"I told you –" she went for her spear again, but he was simply crossing over to the satchel to get a scroll. "I read about it, at the library in the Desert."

"You've been to the Desert?" she said quietly, and no matter what Sokka did she seemed disinterested in his scrolls. "Were you there with the Avatar?"

"Yes, I was, but –"

"Tell me your name again, please," she said quickly, and turned around to retrieve her mask. Sokka opened his mouth to reply, only at that moment she had bent over to pick up her mask from the mossy earth, and the smooth curves of her legs and rear were capturing his attention.

"I said, tell me your name again –"

"Uh – Sokka," said Sokka quickly, as she turned around again. "Yeah, that's it, Sokka."

He cursed himself mentally with being so easily distracted by her figure. Then again, she was absolutely gorgeous, and he had never seen a woman so naked before. He tried to reason out in his head that it was alright, how much he wanted to do unmentionable things to her.

"Sokka…" she seemed to roll the name around in her mouth in a way that made the Prince's chest tight. "And you're a Prince, who knows the Avatar?"

"He is a friend of mine," said Sokka evenly, finally gaining some composure. Suko looked at him through unbearably beautiful green eyes and smiled – but only for a moment.

"Then I am sorry I attacked," she said briskly, and before he could get another word out she took her spear and mask up again to depart. "If you are looking for Kyoshi, you have found all that is left of it. Come with me and everything will be better explained."

She turned to leave with Sokka still standing there, bewildered at the unintended seductive swing in her hips, still wondering if he had drunk that cactus-juice and this was just a terribly vivid, unendurable sort of dream. Then reality crashed into him and he grabbed his satchel and called after her.

"Wait!" he stopped her in her tracks, and there was an annoyed look on her face. "My – my lemur. He's not here. He's white, with big ears –"

"Oh, the lemur," said Suki gently, as an after-thought. "He's up there. I gave him some leechy nuts and he took right to me. He's been up in those branches, eating."

Sokka looked up in time just to see the two huge lemur eyes staring down at him as Momo jumped, falling headlong onto the Prince's head.

_**Break**_

Appa landed less bumpily than before, more accustomed to his own bulk now. Still Toph disliked it, and found no real satisfaction until her toes were wriggling in the dirt again.

"Ah…that's the stuff."

They were in a carved-out rock basin between several cliffs, and the pressing nature of the enclosure unnerved Aang. The mountain-range at the edge of the Desert spread out for miles and miles; to the East, Aang knew, the green valleys began and there was the realm of the Emperor, where the caravan would still be heading. The West was the Union, and as always in his life Aang was in the middle, in the desolate, lifeless terrain of the mountains.

But there was something else bothering Aang. As Appa had come upon the mountains, he had seen any number of goats and flocking birds living in droves about the place, and for this reason he had chosen the basin. Now that they had arrived, the life had gone from the place, and a shadow hung over it like a brooding, rainless cloud.

And it was silent. Fear flowed into Aang like a poison.

Appa groaned loudly and slouched on the rock. Aang was listening intently to the surrounding area, scratching the back of is bald, arrow-tattooed head. Toph, able to see now and glad of it, walked over to him and nudged him in the arm.

"So what? You wanna start here, Aang?"

"Toph…don' say nothin' for a sec'."

Toph opened her mouth to protest, but the seriousness in Aang's voice silenced her. The Avatar walked closed to the nearest cliff wall, staring around strangely, all the while listening for a noise.

But there was none. No shift of falling rocks. birds in the air.

"Somethin' not righ'…we shouldn'a come 'ere…s'like the Pass a' Jin, you know?"

He left Toph's side and walked boldly into the basin, leaving the girl standing alone, obviously uncomfortable with his behavior. But Aang was preoccupied with the formation of the basin; the sides were clean-cut and unmarked, unlike the acres of overturned rock and stone they had passed on their way to land, no like the towering heights and cliffs that rose up around them. In the same way Aang had noticed the dried up bush in the Desert, he noticed the rock-cliffs now; they were unnatural, and he couldn't assume this meant anything good.

Toph was shifting from foot to foot, though not from nervousness; rather she was unsure of whether or she sensed something in the surrounding basin, and was trying to sort it out. Aang had stopped at a particular rock-face and was studying it intensely. Something in the back of his mind, in the part of him that linked with the Avatar spirit, he knew something was wrong.

"Aang…Aang I don't know about this, but I think – I think there might be –"

Aang didn't hear her, just tilted his head slightly, to look at the rock face better. A cloud passed over the sun and the man against the rock wall, his face and body plastered grey and black to blend with the stone, let go a betraying, blinding white smile.

Aang opened his mouth to yell, but the roar of the bandits and barbarians drowned him out. Before he could take another breathe they were everywhere, and Toph was already ripping the earth like a madwoman, all to no avail – for a bandit had her suddenly around the neck, and her windpipe had closed, and her eyes were wide and blind and terrified –

"_Don' you fuckin' touch 'er_!"

Aang threw a punch, and the gust of wind that followed it was so fierce and straight and concentrated that is sliced through the top of the bandit's arm. The man screamed and released Toph, who threw a massive stone into the stomach of another, busting open his ribs – but then a second later a woman descended from the air, a devastating warrior angel in a ripped, blood-red cape, and swung her whip around Toph's legs. The girl tripped beneath a scream and fell, smashing her jaw onto the rock.

Aang roared, and his tattoos began to glow terribly. The club of the bandit behind him split as it crashed onto his head, and the Avatar went down, the light in his eyes extinguished.

Appa went down beneath a thick, cutting twine net, and Toph was knocked out by an ice-lash that seemed to come from nowhere. It had all happened in seconds, with both peasant and daughter of Fong lying unconscious on the stone, and Appa bellowing in the background against his ropes.

The bandits were all covered in grey and black paint, save for the woman in the blood-red cape. She stood aside as the other bound and slung the two over their shoulders, swift and cunning in every movement. It had not been ten minutes since Aang and Toph had landed. The fight had lasted less than two.

One of the bandits – a taller, thicker man covered in dark paint, and with a proud beard to his name – cast a careful eye over the two, lingering especially long on Aang. His eyes were fierce and green behind the coal and mud he had coated himself with for camouflage; his bare torso was firm and swelled with muscle, arms thick as branches, clothing dark as panther-skin. Black tattoos coated his arms, images of dragons and war, but in the top right of his chest a Yin and Yang symbol glared out from beneath the paint. The other bandits said nothing as he observed, and the woman with the whip was watching him beneath her blood-red hood, formless in the sunlight, save for the dark hair running down across her breast.

"Take them both to the Devil's Eye."

The bandits heeded him without question, silent and emotionless as the bloodbenders of the Desert. Appa roared and writhed upon the stone until the earth opened up beneath them, and they all descended into the tombs under the mountain.


	21. Cabbage! edit

I apologize for re-posting this chapter, but I realized too late that, for some reason, a big chunk of it wasn't uploaded? I think I uploaded the wrong document entirely, actually. Anyways, I hope this missing scene adds something to it, I apologize again for the mistake.

_**Break**_

Katara had already moved into the next-door room, on their morning of the fifth day. Zuko was an entirely different man now than the beaten, bloodied corpse of a thing the Foxes had dragged in; the vast majority of his bruises and cuts had healed, save for some light, spattered scarring across his back, and he breathed easier against his damaged ribs. She had no more reason to sleep in the same room with him, as he was not bordering on death or pain, and they could stop this mild indecency. Zuko himself had no idea how thoroughly she had worked on him; often he would fall asleep while she was healing, lulled with the intense comfort of the movement and feel of the water – and hours later he would wake to find her still moving her hands across his chest, or slumped in the chair again, exhausted from the effort.

He admired her – he could not deny that. She was the embodiment of peace and kindness, a kind that he had never encountered before, a light amidst the torture and darkness of the world. She had not the soul of a warrior, as Zuko and Jet and Sokka had; but there was ferocity there, buried beneath her femininity.

He awoke feeling stiff and itching. In the timeless gloom of the library he knew it was impossible to tell the hour, but he assumed it must have been around late morning. A Fox was standing guard at the doorway to the next room, where Katara dwelled; from it, Zuko could hear a low snipping sound, as if she was cutting off more bandage for him.

He came to her doorway, chest sore as always, and leaned against the frame. At first he could not quite see her, for his eyes had not yet adjusted to the light; but when he finally made out her form, sitting quietly on the pillow-covered floor, he rose to speak – though he had no idea what to say.

Then he realized that she was not wearing her niqab.

He froze. She was bending her head to the side, trying to cut a certain length from her hair with a pair of gleaming scissors the Foxes must have brought her. He could see the small, shell-curled shape of her ear, and the side of her dark cheek and chin. She looked soft and vulnerable between the shadows.

"Katara?" he asked, uneasily, from the doorway.

She was turned away from him, luckily, and when she heard his voice she scrambled for her discarded niqab, clapping it across her face instinctively. She had no wish to hide from him, but it was indecent in her mind to show so much of her face. Respectively, Zuko averted his eyes, hoping she would do the niqab again quickly and tell him what the hell was going on.

"…Zuko, I'm sorry…" he looked to find her still without the niqab fully on, though she held the clothe to cover everything below her eyes. "I…I thought you were still asleep."

"What were you doing?" Zuko was trying to draw it out. He was drinking in the sight of her long, smooth, black hair, falling like liquid night to her waist, thicker than Mai's and so much more inviting. Some of it was falling across her wide, startled eyes in the most shy, appealing way.

"I needed to cut my hair," she whispered, and the simplicity of it further astounded him. "It was getting too long…I was having such a hard time, pinning it up beneath the niqab –"

"Oh – alright then. I'm sorry to bother you," he retreated from the door, but as she turned to resume to her work an odd impulse overtook him; he came back into the room, her blue-sari back towards him, hair glistening, hacked, and uneven in the dim light.

"Well – you're making a mess of it, you know," he noticed. The end of her hair was going down in an awkward angle, and she was having a hard time straightening it out.

"I can't do it very well. Song used to cut it for me…" she said sheepishly, the scissors looking huge and awkward in her hand. She turned her eyes up to Zuko then, hopelessly undeniable within its velvet, cerulean blue.

"You…would you maybe cut it for me?"

His heart beat like a canon shot, and his mouth went dry.

"Sure…of course."

He sat down stiffly behind her, letting go a nervous smile as she handed him the scissors, the niqab still pressed to cover her face.

"How much do I take off?" he asked hesitantly. She thought for a moment, and then showed him a length between her thumb and index finger, the width of about two inches.

He followed her instruction, and began to cut. So much hair had she, he began to realize – uncomfortably – that it would take quite a wall to cut it all. His pace was further hindered by the fact the scissors were not well sharpened, probably stolen off a bandit group somewhere in the Desert. Still, he snipped away loyally, talking to her lightly of unimportant things, keeping his wandering eyes in check.

"I have been wondering," Katara said at some point, as Zuko tried to keep his mind on her luxurious, terribly soft hair, and away from her barely concealed face. "Your intended, Mai…is her hair golden? I hear all women from the Union have golden hair."

"…No, she has black hair," said Zuko after a moment. He had not been thinking of Mai at all, not for a long while. "Darker than yours, I think. I can't remember as well anymore."

"Is she very beautiful, then?" asked Katara cautiously. Zuko tried to picture the heiress of Niraj in his mind, and found it very difficult.

"Yes…yes, she is beautiful. But…it is a strange beauty."

"How is that?"

"…I cannot say," he said, and truly he found it very difficult to consider her as beautiful as he once did. Surely, in physical appearance she was the vision of perfection, but he was starting to realize that there were other things to beauty that she lacked. Kindness and generosity and dignity she lacked, and her sort of grace was cold and emotionless, like a mechanical ballerina.

"Maybe she is…not what you think she is," she said lowly, and he felt her weight press against him as she leaned, ever so faintly, into his shoulder. "Maybe here, in Acchai, you will see things clearer than before."

She straightened up, and her weight was no longer against him – but Zuko had frozen. Across her sari-covered shoulder he had seen a clear view of her slender, tan neck, and the arc of her collarbone – and even, if he dared to believe it, the hidden, beginning swell of her breast.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to control himself. The suppressed fires in his veins, the fires of lust and pleasure, sparked ad began to flow through him like a poison. Was it an accident? Or had it been intentional on her part? His mind clouded with frustrating desire and he tried his best to remain unmoved, fearing what rash action he would take.

"Why have you stopped?" Katara asked him after a long moment.

"I'm…I'm trying to get the right length. You said about two inches, right?"

"Yes," she approved, lightly, and he returned to the trimming.

When he was finished with her hair, she gestured for him to turn away again, and gathered it up into a bun. He heard the sound of rustling clothe, and in a moment she was back at his shoulder to thank him, the niqab in its rightful place.

She left the room to prepare lunch for the two, and Zuko took the opportunity to sit slowly on her couch, vividly remembering the feeling of her hair against his skin, and the glimpse of her bare skin.

_**Break**_

SmellerBee was carrying a large bag full of potatoes, one of the only things she could afford with her small waitress salary and Longshot's meager earnings at the woodcutter's, as she stumbled down the lane. She was in a sour mood today, because prices had risen slightly, as the King was currently waging a small war with some revolutionary-group of the Crescent Isles. They called themselves the Freedom Fighters, a catchy name at any rate, but they were pissing SmellerBee off at the moment, since the tussle for power was sucking up the Union's resources.

She stopped at a cabbage cart, one she usually tried to avoid with all her might as the owner was off his rocker, but she needed cheap food. He was busy massaging his cheek with one particularly green head of cabbage, muttering to it like a mad man, and it was all rather annoying to the knife-toting, face-painted woman.

"How much for a cabbage?" she asked the man, loudly. He looked at her suspiciously, and slowly placed his own cabbage onto the cart again.

"Three silver," he said after a moment. SmellerBee's arms dropped and a fury overcame her.

"Three_silver_? Yesterday it was one copper –"

"Well, yesterday it was rotten cabbage," said the man bluntly, gazing irritably at the girl. "Three silver for good cabbage. You don't got it? Beat it."

"Motherfucker," SmellerBee grumbled, though the cabbage man ignored her and went right back to cooing at his produce. Angrily she dragged her sack of potatoes back up the lane to the side of the woodcutter's shop, where Longshot was sitting by a stand, trying to sell red-wood arrow shafts for five copper. His mute nature and dangerous eyes wasn't making the advertising very easy.

SmellerBee came to him grumbling and cursing, hardly stopping to give him his kiss. She put the potatoes down beside him and turned to search her pockets for loose change, to ante up their remaining wages.

"Stupid cabbage man…why does he grow them if he doesn't want to sell them? Hell –"

She was interrupted, suddenly, by someone smashing into her shoulder as they walked by. The stranger did not even pause to glare or apologize, and SmellerBee, already seething, raised her fist as though she would clock him in the back of his head

"Hey! Watch where you're going you fucking –"

But she froze. The man had stopped at a blacksmith's stand, completely disregarding her, some ways down the lane. His huge, unkempt mop of dirty-brown hair was falling handsomely across his thin black eyes, and there was not even the smallest hint of mirth on his lips. He was placing two swords before the blacksmith, twin tiger-hook swords that had obviously seen combat, and he was asking him for a professional sharpening.

"Jet?" SmellerBee's voice was strained. Longshot stood up from the bench.

Jet didn't hear her. The blacksmith began to offer a price and Jet reached into his side-pocket for the money Azula had given him. SmellerBee walked towards him, disbelieving, with Longshot close behind.

"Jet –"

She grabbed for his wrist, but he had her twisted off faster than lightning, and pulled a knife just as quick. She backed away from him instantly, the tip of the blade pointed between her breasts, Longshot's hand already at an arrow in surprise and fear.

For a moment Jet glared at them both like they were no more than rude strangers. But beneath the desperation and ferocity that now embodied his being, he remembered their faces, like some long-forgotten dream. Slowly he lowered the knife from SmellerBee's chest, blinking stupidly.

"…SmellerBee?" he said it like he was seeing a ghost. SmellerBee didn't hear it, only smiled widely at her old friend's confusion.

"Jet! You're alive, you're here – Longshot it's Jet –"

Longshot said nothing. He was staring at his friend coldly, as though he could see the strangled darkness in his aura, his deceived heart. Jet knew he perceived it, saw the sin lying on his shoulders, the gold pieces in his hand that could not have been his; knew it all beneath the distant smell of perfume that still lingered on his frame, the lying honey on his lips.

Longshot kenw there was something wrong, and he put a hand on SmellerBee's shoulder protectively. Jet backed away and sheathed his knife, picking up his tiger-hook swords, despite the blacksmith's protests.

"…I have to go," he said, and his voice was weak. SmellerBee looked at him like he was insane.

"…Go? Go where? Jet, come in to the bar –"

"I'm sorry SmellerBee," but Jet was looking at Longshot, who tightened his grip on SmellerBee's shoulder instinctively.

Jet turned and left them immediately, disappearing like a shadow into the crowded lane. But his dark eyes were wide and fearful, as the old life came crashing back to him, and the light shone in at the edge of his thought. He writhed beneath Azula's power, but he obeyed it – even though now, with the faces of his two friends before him, he began to doubt again.

SmellerBee looked after him worriedly until he disappeared, and then turned to punch Longshot, who hardly moved beneath her blow. His eyes were grey and hard.

"What's wrong with him? Why'd he leave –?"

"He's in trouble."

Longshot said it without emotion, staring at the empty space where Jet had stood. A cloud overcame the sun as he lowered his head and led an enraged SmellerBee away, dangerously wary of what was to come.

_**Break**_

"What are you reading?"

Katara looked up from where she sat against the bookshelf, the long, half-open scroll in hand. Zuko stood over her stiffly, chest bandaged tight to limit his movement and reduce the strain on his ribs. They had taken to wandering about the Library now, as she had bandaged up his chest and he could walk mostly without her support. She had left him to eat alone, having already had lunch herself, and he had taken the time to subdue his mad desire for her.

He tried to convince himself that he was acting impulsively, on the memories of Mai she was inspiring in him. He failed miserably in that regard.

"Oh…Zuko – how do you feel? Do you need something?" she started to stand, but he gestured wildly for her to stay.

"I'm fine," said Zuko quickly, even though he was still uneasy, and the brief glimpse of her uncovered face was haunting the edges of his thought. "I just…I couldn't lay there anymore."

"…Alright," said Katara gently. He lowered himself slowly to sit down beside her, no longer flinching instinctively when she placed a hand on him to guide him. There was something familiar about her that was beginning to grow on Zuko, which was saying much; only a select group of people had ever been allowed into his realm of comfort.

"Thank you," he breathed, when he was seated somewhat comfortably beside her. The scroll in her hand was in written in rushed, sketchy characters, and even Zuko knew they would be difficult to read. "Now what were you reading?"

Her eyes lit up in the way she had when she was smiling – Zuko knew that look by now. She settled near to his shoulder, just secure enough with his presence not to be bothered by the close proximity. Katara had cured Zuko, and she admired him; Zuko respected her skills and healing power, and in some strange way, they were friends now.

Zuko, however, was obviously the less comfortable of the two. He had taken to imagining her unveiled face more often now, a dream that was making him tense and awkward.

"I…I think it's a love letter. You'll think it's silly –" mumbled Katara, and Zuko grinned warmly at her embarrassment, gesturing for her to relax.

"No, come on – read it. Go on."

She looked at him unwillingly, and so appealing and sweet was the look in her eyes he almost took back his words – but before he could she turned back to the letter and began to read, softly and timidly:

_My Swan, my dearest one, my Life,_

_It is you and only you that sustains me now. Four years from the time Long Feng attacked and still I have hope, because of you. Every morning and night I kiss your necklace and wonder how big your belly is. I cannot wait to kiss it, to have you in my arms again. Even when Long Feng himself comes to try and break down the mountain I am not afraid. You have made me the strongest man alive._

_You said you wanted news of the fight. I say when you arrive here, safely, with our child – that is when I will tell you. Between kisses, I will tell you. Between your neck and breasts I will tell you. But not until then. There is too much to write, and too little time to spare. I am certain when you and Song arrive you will be angry with me for this, but I warn you the moment you step through the gate I will not allow you a word. I can still taste your lips, even after all these months apart. I cannot wait to taste them for real once more. And to kiss the head of our child!_

It went on, to speak of the father's hope that it was a girl, and it would have her mother's eyes – but how he knew she wanted a boy, to name him after her brother. Then it began to describe in lust-filled words how thoroughly he would greet her when she arrived, and how fiercely he would remind her how much he loved her – and at that point Katara could read no more, but blushed and turned away, closing up the letter.

"Something tells me this was not meant for our eyes," said Zuko, trying to break the awkward silence that had descended, and put the scroll aside. Katara agreed and laid back against the bookshelf, and there was a dreaming light in her eyes that caught Zuko unawares.

"It is still very romantic," she whispered. "…I wonder if they had a boy or a girl."

Zuko had never thought much about children. He had seen his share in the streets of _Balda Haram_, but any children there were dirty and thieving and more or less orphaned, and only the inn-keeper's wives took pity on them. Zuko had given food to his share of impoverished kids, or perhaps a blanket on a winter night – but they were not his children, and overall he could not be responsible for them. He left them to the soft-hearted women and the nuns of the Abbey, and continued on his way with Jet.

"I can't imagine what it would be like. To have a child," said Zuko slowly. Katara turned her smiling eyes on him again.

"That is because you're a man," she said slyly, standing from beside him. He propped himself up by the bookcase and followed her, staring incredulously.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, but he was grinning again. Had he thought about it, he may have realized that Mai had never merited such grins from him. Katara fiddled innocently with her niqab and backed into the hall.

"Nothing at all," she said, and before Zuko could press her further, he saw the coy light in her eyes vanish. Just as she had seen the pain seep into his eyes, he saw the abrupt fear strangle her own, a shadow of panic against her endless blue.

"Oh no…"

Zuko turned and saw the great Owl the same moment it saw him. Wan Shi Tong bristled his feathers at the newcomer and reared up, ungodly in the demonic presence of his being, beak bared open in a thunderous, ear-splitting screech. Zuko did not even allow the shock to phase him, but burst his hands to brilliant yellow flame and roared back at the towering beast.

"_No_! Stop –"

Wan Shi Tong recoiled at the sight and blazing heat of the fire, but his screech did not fade; rather it strengthened in volume to an unbearable height, so that Katara dropped painfully to her knees and the fire in Zuko's hands shuddered and died. He doubled over beneath the all-consuming shadow of the Owl, crippled by his throbbing ribs and the piercing, echoing screech.

Wan Shi tong may have devoured the firebender right there, for he was old and wild now, crazed with the solitude of his imprisonment; the Library was no safe haven for the spirit, but a satin-lined cage in which he paced and withered and went mad. Long ago in the birth of the world, when the spirits walked among mortals and the name _Avatar_ was still new upon men's lips, he had fallen from grace. The Library was his prison, and he would rip apart a trespasser as soon as aid one. The bones in entrance hall were proof of this.

But the Foxes had already come, and before the old wrath could consume Wan Shi Tong they were before Zuko, a barrier of teeth and fire and fierce, glowing red eyes. The great Owl shuddered at the sight of them, his servants and hits gate-keepers, his obedient prison-guards.

"This is the firebender you saved?" the Owl roared, and suddenly its screech twisted and became a high, cruel, cold pitch of laughter that terrified Zuko more than any ghostly howl. The Foxes said nothing, only growled and snarled like devil-hounds, every hair on their massive bodies erect, teeth unsheathed and dripping in the dim torchlight.

"Pay your debts well, heir of Agni!" cackled the Owl, and the devouring madness in the spirit's voice pierced him like a spear. Wan Shi Tong locked eyes with the firebender one more time before turning to disappear into the darkness; his great, round gaze was full of cruel delight, and Zuko's blood ran cold.

Yet the soreness in his ribs immediately distracted him, and he wrapped an arm around his chest to try and stabilize himself. Katara crawled as quickly as she could to his side, taking his arm gently as he struggled to one knee. Her hands were shaking against his skin, and though he was rather more surprised than her, he placed a steady hand on her arm to comfort her.

"If only he would leave us alone," she muttered, as Zuko leaned against her vaguely and straightened up. One of the Foxes spoke to them in answer, eerie and motionless in the dim light.

_Do not fear._ _We will keep him from you._

"I…thank you, again," said Zuko hesitantly, as Katara checked his chest and arm.

"I think you need to lie back down again, Zuko –"

"No – come on," Zuko breathed, grabbing her hand as she studied his chest, desperate not to return to the couch yet. He had been there more than four days and it was seriously getting on his nerves. "Let's look around. Let's do _something_. Please, I know it'd probably be better for me, but I don't want to lay there anymore."

She seemed momentarily surprised when he took her hand, but recovered well, glaring faintly at his pleading face. Zuko knew he could not be the most convincing or adorable of people, with the terrible scar on his left eye, but he tried anyway. He had the soul of a warrior, and sitting on a couch all day and night was more torture to him than any pains of the Rope Walk.

"…You're right, it would be better for you," she said, but shook her head in defeat. "But it wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. And if you keep making that face, it'll stick."

They walked about the Library under the supervision of a Fox now, and despite the great Owl's cryptic warning, it did make Zuko feel all the safer. They discovered, as Sokka had before, that though the Owl's collection was vast, it did not mean that all of it was interesting. Several times they came across whole sections labeled things like, _Ways to Prepare Leechy Nut Soup_, or _Notes on the Mortal Foot_. There were maps and executive orders and things, but neither of them found these overly interesting, as Sokka may have. They lingered over-long in a section entitled _Tales of Chong_, a slew of absurd stories written by a nomadic man several hundred years ago, who claimed to have seen everything from a cursed, maze-filled cave, to the Avatar, to a hundred-foot tall purple beaver-rabbit. If nothing else, they were a laugh to read, and by the time they moved on to another section, Katara had picked out her favorites and was carrying them under one arm.

They were navigating the halls by the rows of torches, and so avoided the darker sections where evil words and spells were kept. The Library was not only home to goodly knowledge and history, but a place of insight into dark and dangerous things: terrible uses of bloodbending were written here, and records of Avatars turned cruel, and sicker things involving blood-moons and mutilations and red altars. It was all for the better that the followed the torch-path, which no doubt some good soul had placed long ago in the Library to guide away from the evils, and no doubt had given his life for it. Of course, Zuko could have firebended a light into his hands and guided them into an unlit section, but Katara had decided against it, as the bending could easily sap his strength.

During his whole time of exploration, Zuko was strangely comfortable with her in a way he couldn't quite pinpoint. With Jet and Longshot and SmellerBee, it had always been a friendship based on trust and faith and looming danger, the knowledge that they'd guard one another's backs against a knife. With Aang it was less violent; they trusted one another, but there was still a certain level of privacy and respect to divide them. Sokka he considered an equal, and admirable man of dignity and skill, though 'friend' was still a more strained name to use in his regard. Mai he had never been comfortable with, either lost in burning lust for her or in savage hatred, and there was never a middle ground.

Perhaps it was because she had healed him, because she had seeped the water beneath his skin and soothed his broken body. Perhaps the deep spirituality and closeness of her bending had formed a new connection, and as she made him whole, she was also flowing some part of her into him. But Zuko was lost as to an explanation; all he knew was that he felt no anxiety or animosity between them, only comfort and ease, and he had no desire to upset it – especially with the burning longing he had felt for her as he cut her hair, which he now deemed as a one-time offense.

His wondering, however, was delayed as they passed through another hallway, following the torchlight. An entrancingly beautiful doorway caught his eye, and stopping Katara with a soft nudge to her shoulder he nodded towards it.

"Look – in that room. What's that?" Zuko pointed over her shoulder into a dark doorway, where several lights were glittering, miniature gems.

"I…I don't know. Let's see!" she exclaimed, even more excited than he, and pulled him after her towards the doorway. He had to smile at her eagerness; she was too full of passion and life, as all the people of Acchai, to fear the dangers of the unknown.

When they entered the room, they had to wait a moment to adjust to the darkness. The Fox stood in the doorway but refused to enter; as long as they remained there it remained in the same place, a statue made of flesh and fire.

As their eyes adjusted, the awe overcame them. In the midst of the room, a round calendar was kept, recording the year and month and season and day according to the sky – but this is not what captured their attention. The room was carved out as a huge, perfectly smooth dome; the ceiling, at the moment, was dotted with stars made from shining night-crystals, brilliant green against the black background, and perfectly arranged into the constellations of the sky: the bear, the archer, the Flying Eight – they were all there, shining down as though they looked up at the sky itself. The moon was nearly full, a great, round orb suspended on an intricately designed contraption of iron bars that rotated according the time of year. But what really attracted their attention was the fact that, as they looked up at the fake sky, wondering what genius had concocted such a thing, lights began to flash by – as though, somewhere in the sky far above, meteors were falling. They increased in volume until the whole ceiling was alight with falling stars, of all different colors and sizes, a rainfall from heaven unseen by most men.

"Oh my god…it's beautiful…"

Zuko turned to look at the expression in Katara's eyes, and found that, even covered with the niqab, she was astoundingly beautiful. He had another intense desire to see her without the head covering, a desire that was becoming increasingly unbearable as the days went on, though he still didn't understand why. Was it just curiosity? It was too strong as desire, too pressing, too real to be that…

She was already reading the dates on the round calendar as he thought this, wishing to know when such a gorgeous spectacle would occur. It took her a moment to make out the symbols.

"It says…the fifteenth day of – oh! Zuko! It's tonight!" she looked in surprise at Zuko, who was still too indulged in his thoughts to realize what she was saying, and had to look back up at the sky-map to make sure. She, however, was delighted, and clapped her hands to her niqab-covered mouth. "Oh, Zuko! We have to see it!"

"You want to?" he found he was not entirely concerned with seeing it himself, only avid to please her. She nodded vigorously and he looked back up at the sky-map, grinning at the sight.

"Then we'll do it," he stated. "I mean, they will let us out, right?"

_We will accompany you._

Zuko almost jumped, ready to light his hands to flame with surprise, before remembering the Fox standing in the doorway. Katara clapped her hands delightfully again and thanked the Fox profusely, though the spirit watched her only with keen indifference. The sight of her so happy amused Zuko, and though he could not know it himself, she lifted his own spirits a little.

"I'll get a blanket. We can eat and then go up – oh, Zuko! To see a meteor shower! If only Toph – well, I guess it wouldn't matter much to her, anyway –"

Zuko laughed, and followed her out of the room, to prepare for their night of star-gazing.


	22. Desire

I had to edit the last chapter, I uploaded the wrong document and missed an entire scene, so if readers wouldn't mind going back real quick and reading it in Chapter 21, this chapter will make more sense. It's right at the beginning. Sorry to superkawaiifoxy, you must have tried to read it right after I took it out – but it's up now, sorry for the mistake and the delay, and thanks for reading :)

And hearts for this chapter. Yay. Stupid, hormonal Zuko.

_**Break**_

The Foxes brought Katara and Zuko up at sunset, along with their blankets; they said nothing as they did so, only watched the pair intensely as they walked onto the sand. Zuko found it both odd and enlightening that, even in the ruthless backlands of Acchai, amidst war and blood had death, Katara – a woman who had grown up knowing only battle and strife, who had felt its affects daily – would still retain enough innocence to be enamored by such a thing as meteor shower. She was an altogether strong and bewildering person, and it captivated him.

Against the low red sun, her frame was silhouetted as if by living fire, and the contrast against her deep blue sari was unearthly. Zuko was trying desperately to control the hundred conflicting thoughts that were running through his head, unable to look at anything but her hidden frame, unable to think of anything save for the delicate picture he imagined her unveiled face to be. His head felt ready to burst into flame with desire and frustration, but he masked it well, and followed her to a clear, windless spot where they could lie and see the stars.

As he spread the blanket on the sand, he realized suddenly that his arm didn't hurt. Katara had stopped giving him so much of the herbal drug, as he was healing better than she hoped, but the bone had still pained him routinely. Now, though, there was only a lingering soreness that was very bearable, and he found her could bend the elbow without strain.

"You know…I think my arm's better," he said cautiously, clenching his fingers easily beneath the splint. Katara took his wounded arm in her soft, dark-skinned hands and examined it gently, putting pressure on certain points on certain veins, and studying Zuko's reactions.

"…It's healed well," she said after a long moment of thought. "If you want, I think we can take it out."

He nodded, and she began to unwrap the splint from his arm. He was bent over a little towards here, an unfortunate side-effect of the bandaging and damage to his ribs, and found this brought his face very close to hers. She was several inches shorter than him, and as he gazed along the top of her niqab, he remembered the sweet smell and texture of her long hair, not so dark as Mai's, not so smooth and perfect – but even now he was thinking Mai was not so perfect as he imagined, perhaps not so worthy of devotion. Had she ever shown the same blind admiration for him? Had she ever given him any honest sign of affection, of goodwill? No, never – and it nagged at him incessantly.

_Maybe here, in Acchai, you will begin to see things clearer than before_. The truth of her words haunted him.

When she took it out of the splint, he turned and bent and moved it every which way, all without an ounce of pain. Delighted at his recovery, she dared to do something that only furthered the stress on his nerves: she threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

Her body was warm and soft against him. She only held him a second, but the moment imprinted itself on his mind, and stirred up a pressure in his chest. He remembered her weight against him as she cut his hair, and had to subdue another wave of earnest desire.

Zuko tried desperately to remind himself that he was a man, and men had urges, and this was not wrong. He also tried to remind himself that this was Acchai, and this was Sokka's sister, and to start thinking with his lower order of things would probably mean losing them.

He made a fire to keep them warm against the gathering coolness of the night, feeding it with pieces of empty bookcases the Foxes had torn out of the Library for just this occasion. The Foxes themselves had little thought to the future meteor shower, and were standing like sentinels several yards in each direction from the two, lying lazily upon their paws, noses pointing north.

The talked about varying things, as they waited for the sun to set. Katara finally took the time, then, to explain to him why the others had left: Sokka had found evidence of the true history of Acchai and the Union, and thought more answers could be found at various other places. What Sokka intended to do with these answers was still a mystery to her, for she was not with Zuko when her brother had spoken of the Moon-Spirit, and his time bordering on the spirit-realm.

"He was very eager to leave," she said lowly, and Zuko could hear the worry in her voice. "He wasn't acting himself, but I didn't know what to do."

"He had bordered on death," said Zuko gently, remembering the crazed, unnatural look in Uncle's eyes as they bore Lu Ten's body away, to burn in the eternal fire. "Everyone who comes that close to the spirits undergoes a change. At least, that is what my Uncle told me."

She nodded in understanding, though neither of them would ever be able to truly understand. The sun was almost fully set by now, and the single cloud on the horizon was glowing red beneath the dying light. Above them, the sky stretched away, an endless, curving canvas of black and purple and dark, sapphire blue. The moon had already been out for quite some time, but as the sun fell at last to sleep beyond the curtain of the far horizon, it glowed forth in full strength, a beacon within the uncertainty of night.

"I love the moonlight," Katara said wistfully, and Zuko had to admit to himself that she looked a goddess beneath the distant, white glow of the heavens. "I used to sneak out at night...Toph and I would dance in the fields without our niqabs."

"You love your sister very much," he mused, more concerned with the way her eyes shimmered vaguely in the dark, and the subtle movements of her body beneath the sari.

"Yes," asked Katara, and she was fiddling with the edges of her niqab, elbow just brushing his bare side. "We weren't very well loved by out father, or other sisters…so we clung to one another."

"I know how you feel," agreed Zuko, thinking back on his childhood years, and the unrivaled companionship with Lu Ten.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"A sister," he said, though Azula had never shown him any kindness and he considered her more a constant torment. "But we were never close. Lu Ten was the closest thing I had to a brother."

"Who was he?"

"He was my cousin. He was a great man."

"Did something happen to him?"

Her question delved up and old and terrible pain, a gory flash of memory that struck him at unawares; suddenly there as falling crimson rain, and dull thud of fist and club against bared flesh, and the snapping of bone and shattering of teeth. He shook at the brutality of it, but composed himself.

"…Yes," said Zuko lowly, realizing he had never told anyone this story before – only his family knew, and Jet, who had barely pried it from him. He flinched as the memory flashed by again, deeper than a knife cold cut – the emotionless face of his father, and his own faded, desperate screaming, and the sick, blood-soaked mud. "…he died when I was still young."

"I'm so sorry, Zuko," she said, and it was limitlessly wonderful to know how honest her words were. If she had been any other sort of person, he may have lashed out of her for show of false compassion.

"It…it happened on our way to a dinner," and Zuko had to laugh, emptily, at the superficial customs of the Union – having to spend dinner twice a week with royals he hated, just to keep rumors and accusations away from the family name. "My father was building up his personal guard, and stopped to speak to some criminals with this – this _mad_ idea –"

The memory poured out of him like a flood. He had locked away the ending of the night, where Lu Ten fell beneath the fists of former friends, fighting even til his last – but he had memorized every other detail of the day in horrifying clarity. Still Zuko could feel the gripping hands of his father at his shoulder, iron claws of malice, ruthless and expressionless in the face of his nephew's slow demise. It broke him, as if his ribs had snapped out of place again.

"He wanted to overthrow the Niraj – kind of like the tactics here in Acchai, but more underhanded. He wanted to work his way up to the Chosen King himself, really. He'd been planning it his whole life – my grandfather was deranged, he told all these stories about the Nations, and the Fire Lord, and my father was…unstable."

Katara watched him intently, and even without looking at her he could tell there was terror in her eyes. It confused and enamored him – had she not seen worse torments than he, in all her time of Acchai? Had she not seen her brother maltreated, cursed at, probably beaten routinely? Could she really be so gentle and caring when such things were a daily occurrence with her? If so, then she had an intense strength that absolutely baffled him.

"Lu Ten stopped him," he continued, latching on to the opportunity of companionship she presented. "He warned the Niraj of his plan – that he would poison them all with ratsbane. As soon as they came to the door, they spat at his feet and told him to turn back, before they arrested him. He never said anything in return – just looked at Lu Ten, and left…"

"That night I waited at the door for Lu Ten to return…but he was late, and I was scared. I didn't really know what had happened at the Niraj. When my mother's back was turned, I snuck out to find him. We had a place, in one of the back-streets of _Balda Haram_, where we used to go and place dice with the labor-men. Lu Ten was the luckiest dice player I ever knew, and he even taught me how to gamble – which didn't really please my mother."

He smiled lowly, and suddenly felt her hand glide gently to his arm. He looked at her wildly, as the warrior spirit reacted – but there was nothing in her eyes but cool grace and comfort, and though a tremor went through him at her touch, he did not pull away.

"Did you find him?" she asked gently.

"…Yes," he managed. "But my father took me away from him. He was there, when Lu Ten died. He didn't do anything to stop it."

"What did he do with you?"

"He gave me this scar…and banished me from the house."

She said nothing in response to his words. She knew the cruelty of madmen, and especially of scorned fathers; yet her hand slid down to take his, and he gathered his fingers around her small ones for a brief moment, calmed by the feeling of her smooth skin.

"You know…" he started, still holding her hand gently, praying she didn't decide to pull away and leave him there, alone to his memories. "You haven't asked about it, really. My scar."

"Should I have?" he looked at her, and the blind intensity in his gold eyes seemed to catch her off guard, and her hand trembled in his.

"Most people want to, when they first meet me."

She took her hand from his and folded them on her lap, looking away shyly. Zuko watched her humility with the same concentrated awe as he watched the pools of her deep, sparkling eyes, all the while missing the feeling of her skin on his.

"I thought it would be rude," she whispered, and Zuko swallowed the desire in his throat.

"…No. Not from you."

He imagined she blushed, beneath her niqab. He imagined a lot of things beneath her niqab, nowadays.

"Does it bother you? My scar?" he asked.

A moment of silence passed, but it was not hesitation on her part. The moon was fully out now, and she chanced a glance up at the sky, where the first few stars were giving birth against the black canopy.

"All men of Acchai have scars," said Katara softly, pulling in her knees against her chest. The position made her seem extremely vulnerable, and it made Zuko's insides move in a new, intense way that he did not find uncomfortable. "It is part of life in the war-lands. I have never imagined a man without them. Even Sokka has one, on his right shoulder – and another, on one of his legs, I think. Toph and I even used to talk about the scars our husbands would have. She wanted a man with three across his chest, the mark of a mole-bear's claws."

She smiled a little at the shallow nature of the dream, and half-hid her face against her knees.

"What about you?" Zuko asked it before he could stop himself.

"I wasn't sure yet," she said quietly.

"Yeah…I guess you never really know for sure," he mused, and then the meteors began to fall.

It was stunning. The stars had broken out across the sky, their constellations muddled and overlapping and fighting for room, the moon overseeing it all like a stern mother. It was faint, at first, the stars vanishing as soon as they came, and only Katara seemed to notice them in time. But as the night deepened, and all light fled from the horizon, Zuko extinguished the fire – and then the rain came down.

It was as if the heavens had opened up, and the gods had let loose their flaming arrows; white streaks cut through the air so swiftly and brilliantly the Desert was illuminated beneath the glow. Katara likened them to a thousand falling angels descending down to earth, each one as bright and glorious as the last, all made of a pure and unquenchable light.

For a long while they laid beside each other on the blanket, looking up at the beauty of the star-scattering sky, all the while Zuko wondered if he ever could have foreseen this future, back in _Balda Haram_ in the bar with Jet. He probably would've laughed and punched someone if they told him such a thing – that in not two month's time he would be a thousand miles away from the Academy, lying beneath a star-shower with Fox-demons around him in the midst of a Desert. Lying beside a serene, utterly bewildering beautiful girl. He laughed at how absurd and destined it all seemed, and Katara rolled over to look at him.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking," he smiled, and had he known how dear his smiles were to the waterbender he may have done something foolish and impulsive at the moment. "About life back in the Union. I never could have predicted any of this… not in _Balda Haram_."

He wasn't looking at her, so he couldn't see the cunning smile in her eyes.

"Here. Give me your hand," she said suddenly, sitting up and holding out her palm expectantly. Zuko propped himself up stiffly on his elbows, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Just _do_ it. Please?"

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed, if only to see the delighted light in her eyes.

"Alright," she said, pleased. "Song and Toph and I used to do this all the time. It's a fortune-telling game. Now, just let me see…"

She traced the lines of his palm with one delicate finger, studying the marks on his palm, which made him extremely tense.

"You have been broken-hearted before," she said after a moment. "Your line here is skewed. And there has been sorrow, of course…but also happiness. A very good friend, for one. And here – here it says you will find a great love. One that will sustain you all along your life-line."

"You can tell all that from my hand?" asked Zuko incredulously. She nodded vigorously and added:

"Yes, that – and how many children you will have, and how long until your hair turns white, and –"

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Some things you just know," she said evasively, stars still falling like angels, far above her.

"Ok, ok, let me try," said Zuko suddenly, taking her hand in his, though she protested vaguely. Careful to remember the feeling of her warm skin on his, he began to trace his fingers on her palm.

"Let's see. You…think your sister Vulha is a fat slug."

"No! That's not fair, I told you that –"

"Hey!" he barely silenced her with a look, and continued. "Alright – this line? Here? You are going to have a very, _very _happy husband…who will want to give you very, very, _very_ many children…"

"Now you're making fun of me," she said, but she was giggling.

"You're hair will never turn white, by the way. Only grey."

"That's a relief."

"And you were born in the year of the rabbit."

"_No_."

"The year of the tiger?"

"Yes!"

"Alright…and you – you like to sing."

"Sometimes…"

"And …you're beautiful, of course," he began, and then her eyes met his, and suddenly the humor of the game died within him. He saw a rare opening and he took it, without hesitation of regret. "Yes…you're beautiful. The most precious in all Acchai. You are…the envy of all women."

Her eyes danced above the niqab, but she seemed to be aware, as much as he, that the joking was over. For a moment she said nothing, and their eyes burned like fire against one another; dark, ferocious golden flame, against cold, calm blue depths.

"How do you know?" she asked, and her tone was soft now. "…You've never even seen my face."

Zuko felt the heat rise in him again, and no longer was he so concerned with subduing it. The realm of adoration and desire he had before saved for Mai was beginning to concern only her, only the woman of Acchai, only Katara. He dare not even think the word _love_.

"Some things you just know," he said quietly.

He was about to release her hand, but before he could even think of it her fingers moved across his rough skin, soft and cool against his inner heat. He dare not stop her, and in fact he was so captivated by her full, cerulean eyes he hardly knew what she was doing, until she placed his hand on the side of her face, against the fabric of the niqab.

It was clear what she wanted him to do, and it paralyzed him. He remembered the smooth side of her dark cheek, the hundred imaginations of her unveiled face.

"Katara…" he started, but he couldn't find anything to say. The desire was too strong.

"…I want you to see me, Zuko," Katara whispered. Zuko's heart beat loudly in his chest.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers took hold of the soft, blue clothe of the niqab. He was too enamored with her to shake with anticipation; only unfurled the fabric with slow, steady motions, as she pressed her hand against the back of his, patient until he finally unveiled her.

Perfect, glowing pink lips looked back at him, a small round nose. He ran his fingertips lightly across her smooth cheek, gorgeously formed beneath her distracting eyes. No imaginations of any kind had prepared him for something like this. She was more beautiful than the Moon Goddess herself, than any mortal thought could contrive; not perfect, no, not perfect – but real and true and graceful, the idol of womanhood. He wondered if, in the first dawn of the world, when the forms of women were still untainted, unmasked with tight laces and pastes and oils – if this was the image they had strived for.

Her breathe seemed caught as he ran his fingers down her cheek, heedless of all else, of the stars and the Desert and the Library, of the distant echoes of a ruthless Acchai and a corrupt Union. For one blind moment, they were the only two people in the world, and all else was dark and meaningless.

"You are…so beautiful…" he barely managed to say it, breathless in her revealed presence. He wanted to run his fingers across her sweet, soft mouth, and the very idea sent his mind reeling in a thousand different directions – the smell of her sweeping black hair, her hot breathe in his ear, the sweet and salty taste of her dark, endless skin…

"…Not as beautiful as your Mai, though?" she whispered.

Zuko's fingers were tracing her chin, touching the very edge of her pink lips. Her words caught him off guard, and he froze, staring at her thoughtlessly. She stared back for one long, painful moment, and then lowered her eyes to stand.

"It's getting late, now. Let's go back inside."

Zuko said nothing. She had taken his breathe away, and he followed her numbly, mind too awed by her beauty to churn up a response, to realize she was evading him. His heart was still beating wildly with the half-imagined thoughts he had contrived, coupled with the guilt of actually thinking them. He mentally shook himself and tried to quench the fire.

But the fire remained. All the way back into the Library, through the silence of the halls, it remained. He brooded on it, and it strengthened, and he poured over things in his mind. How could he respond to her words? Was he not supposed to think Mai, his intended, was the most beautiful woman in the world? Perhaps Katara was only beautiful because her face was so new. Perhaps he was imagining her as more than she really was.

But she was there. And she was beautiful. And she was everything…

"The others may be returning in a few days," she was saying, as though nothing was happening, oblivious to the fire in his veins. "Goodnight, Zuko."

She made a move to depart into her own room, leaving him alone and burning and unfulfilled. It scorched him, drove him to extreme, and before she could disappear he muttered impulsively:

"…She is a hag."

Katara stopped at his words, and turned to look at him strangely.

"What?"

He was already near her, too near; his powerful frame loomed over her and she took a step back against the doorframe, eyes wide and gorgeous.

"…Mai is a hag, compared to you."

She did not reply, save to keep her eyes locked on his, her pink lips moving gently as though willing herself to speak. But she did not, and in blind frustration and desire he asked, fiercely:

"Why do you care how I feel about her?"

He could see the desire in her eyes. He could feel her hands shaking as she raised them to his chest, hardly even enough for him to feel.

"You are different, Zuko," she whispered, and to see her sweet mouth form the words was absolute torture. "You are…stronger. I felt…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. Zuko was towering over her, consumed with that old and powerful fire, lips inches from her full, parted pink ones. She breathed, and Zuko felt it against his chin, hot and enticing. It was unbearable.

"You need to rest," she whispered, but her voice was hushed and strained. Just barely she managed to lower her face from him, and slip away; but just as she was about to disappear around the corner, she looked back at Zuko.

He hair cascaded down across her shoulders, framing each side of her dark face, eyes glowing like moons themselves in the dimness. The torchlight illuminated her, innocent and kind in the dark, before she departed fully into her own room, leaving Zuko torn and alone beside his couch.

That night passed miserably. Three times Zuko sat up, chest beating like a drum, every inch of him passionately alive, skin prickling as every sweet, dark desire flowed through him. He knew how close she was and it burned him, deeper than any flame he could set aglow; every stirring she made, every rustle of blankets, was an open invitation. He clenched his hands on the side of his couch and tried to steady himself.

She wouldn't deny him. He knew it. He had seen it in the endless depths of her eyes, in the curve of her glowing smile. She would wrap her arms around him and say, "_Yes, I've wanted you all along – how did you not see it before?_"

Finally, she rustled no more, and her breathing steadied. He laid back slowly on the couch, and stared at the distant ceiling for what seemed an age, until he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	23. Roku Speaks

Just so everyone knows, I put up some reference pictures in my profile for this story, regarding some scenery from this chapter and other things. Recommend it if you'd like to get a better picture of some of the sceneries :)

ALSO! Inga drew a beautiful interpretation of Katara in her sari and niqab, the link of which is also in my profile now. Thanks Inga!

* * *

The swamp pressed in around Sokka, alive and ancient and breathing. No longer was it the boggy, smelly mess of earth and water and curling trees as he had encountered (though it was just as full of flies and gnats) – Suki was leading him into the heart of it, where there was less standing water and more vegetation, huge banana and sweeping balsawood, canopy trees that seemed to stand as tall as mountains in Sokka's eyes. After a while, he could no longer see the sky at all, only the distant, dark emerald leaves, bigger than a man, like the wings of giant eagles. The trunks of such trees were branchless til their tops, and it could take ten minutes to walk around them, roots like roads and bridges in the earth. Everywhere there hung green vines and creepers and strings of blossoming flowers, the younger trees filling in gaps between the huge, jade-colored bushes and massive deadwoods. The undergrowth was so thick and dense that even Suki, who was following her own well-used path, had drawn a fierce, thick-bladed machete, and was chopping her way through. 

The air was close and humid, and it was making Sokka sticky and uncomfortable. Whether Suki was accustomed to the heat and bugs and pressure of the swamp-forest, or she was simply raving mad, she did not seem mind the constant clinging of the plants, or the bite of the flies. Sokka, however, was always swatting his neck and arms and legs, and getting caught on all sort of creepers and things, and cursing the close, moist atmosphere around him. Suki smiled to herself as he cussed, moving fluid as a shadow amidst the unpredictable undergrowth, her golden skin unmarked, bare feet muddy but unharmed.

Sokka had forgotten, now, about the spirit-Fox, who would probably be returning back up the coast. Momo was huddled on the Prince's shoulder, and unlike Sokka was having the time of his life – there were any number of odd, probably exotic-tasting bugs flying around for the lemur to catch, though Sokka had to grumble irritably that, for every one the lemur ate, about ten more were there to take it's place.

"What did you say your name was?" Sokka called ahead, as she hacked her way through the vines, machete like lightning in the gloom of the rainforest trees. From somewhere far above them, there was a rustle and a loud flutter of wings; Sokka looked up in time to see a brilliant, blue-and-gold macaw glide between the leaves.

"Suki. Why?"

"Suki? Well, because that name – I read it, somewhere –"

"It was a very common name, once. My mother had it too. Yours is Sokka, right?"

"Yeah, but –"

"Watch your step, Sokka."

She gave no other warning, and the bewildered Prince took his next step with the same blind luck as he had taken every other one so far. Only this time, Momo took a decisive leap from his shoulder, and the Prince's foot met a great, sweeping expanse of empty air.

He gave a halted cry, foot falling about two feet down before catching on a wet, moss-covered stone and sending him reeling backwards against the muddy bank-wall. He cursed, violently, unaware that he had narrowly escaped a worse fate a few feet ahead, where Suki was standing unveiled in the brilliant morning sun, feet bordering the grey-green-stone, cliff-edge, spear and mask in hand.

The swamp-forest had opened up suddenly onto a massive, towering cliff, but the trees had not stopped. Rather they stretched on below them, a carpet of endless emerald canopy, hundreds of feet above the safe, brown earth. They had traveled slowly up the side of a dwarf mountain, and were standing at one of it's precipices now, the looming, tree-covered cliffs running off to their right. When Sokka finally managed to get beside Suki, he took it all in with concentrated awe, knowing nothing but the dry shrub-lands and Desert of Acchai, and the city-states of the Union.

It was an altogether ancient, untamed place, as unruly now as in the first dawnings of the world, when the dew was new on the leaves, and the human footfall was still unheard. Rivers cut through the rainforest like pulsing veins, huge and wild and white-watered, twisting their way amongst the great boulders and arching trees and massive umbrella-leaved plants. It stretched on into the horizon, fading into a warm morning fog, the mists hanging above the forest layers like low-flying clouds. Everywhere, as far as Sokka could see, was green; this was a place of life, of unlimited growth, the powerful potential of a fertile, undisturbed earth. There was wind on the cliff-top, and at last Sokka could relax in the cool breeze, listening to the stirring of the branches and the thousand different inconsistent cries of a thousand different birds and beasts, all clamoring for life within the swamp-jungle.

"This way," Suki had seen it all before. Her fierce, huge mask had been carved from the red-Akaka trees near the Breathing Cave; she had stripped the hides of moose-lions and jaguars to make her clothing, and she ate the mangoes and crimson fruits of the treetops. A wolf-bat used to live with her in the Breathing Cave, an odd but loyal companion, until one day it ventured out into the forest and Suki never saw it again.

That was the way of the jungle. Like the way of Acchai, it was ever-changing, ever-growing, and there was no certainty in returning safely. But this was Suki's domain, and she survived it well.

"Where are we going?" said Sokka, the indescribable beauty of the jungle all but lost on him, and kind of cursing himself that he hadn't asked this question earlier. Suki slid down the side of the cliff expertly, not even pausing to turn around as he followed, machete still unsheathed.

"To the Caves over the Falls. That way," she straightened her arm gracefully, somewhat in front of her, and Sokka's mouth dropped. Momo chirped interestingly at his shoulder.

The Falls were attributed to the boundless generosity of the patron river-spirit, who's sweeping face was still painted into the cliff-sides, eyes like drops of crystal rain. The Falls were the Life-Breathe, the Heart of the jungle; there was no waterfall on earth that could compare to its majesty, and its crushing power. At least a thousand feet it climbed, torn and changed and re-directed with jagged rock and stubborn root, white water clambering down the mountain-side in a fury to reach the river. All things were washed away before its speed and strength, and in it's entirety, it may have been taller and larger than the whole Estate at Al-Abhad, not counting the surrounding fields. Even from the top of the cliff Sokka could hear the pounding, thunderous sound of water on stone, and the absolute immensity of it all kept him speechless.

"Are you coming or not?"

Suki was already far ahead, bathed suddenly in the morning glow along the cliff-edge, her skin pure gold in the light. Her massive, demonic mask was less terrible now that the sun lit up its wooden frame, but its eyes were still hollow and unseeing, black as death.

Silenced by the sudden, barbaric beauty she made in the light, Sokka remained frozen to his spot, until the annoyed displeasure in her eyes willed him to move. Mentally, he was kicking himself up and down and all over the place – sure, he had never seen a woman that naked before, but he could control himself to some degree, right? Wrong? Fuck.

He followed her down the mountain-side, on a narrow, barely navigable path hewn out from between the rocks. It led right down the side of the Falls, so they were sprayed with white foam as the passed it, which annoyed Sokka far more than Suki. To his increasing irritation she cut through behind the wall of falling water and into a dark, cold tunnel behind the Falls themselves, which Sokka assumed wound far beneath the river, as the rocks dripped and stank of fish. There were bats in the tunnel, huge, vampiric-looking ones hanging by the hundreds from the ceiling, and though they made Sokka shudder, the most they ever did was open a lazy red eye and glare at him before going back to sleep.

It was cold in the tunnel, thanks to the pounding presence of the Falls, and it wound downward at an angle that suggested they were soon to be entering some caverns. Here and there were catacomb openings back into different levels of the jungle, some of them peaking out from cliff-sides, others opening at the roots of the massive trees, still others clogged with bats.

Suki stoped at one of these openings, though at first Sokka could not tell why, as the cave entrance did not open up into the forest; rather it fell out from beneath them and became a huge, dark stone hole, wet and slick and edged by a few vine-coated trees. The layers of flat stone that lined its falling walls were covered in moss and root, and there was no possible place for footholds. There was also no way in which to measure the depth of the cave, but the sound of swelling water could be heard far below, distant and faint, like the steady pace of a breathe.

"This is the Breathing Cave," Suki stated, listening to the rise and swell of the waters far below. She walked across to where the creeper-covered trees stood at attention and took one of the vines, wrapping it around her bare leg for support. "We're going to have to wait a few minutes before going in."

"Wait – what?" Sokka looked at her wildly, after swatting his neck for the seventh hundred time. "We're not going in there?"

"Will you trust me?" she snapped, glaring at him from behind her war-paint with full, clear green eyes. The Prince did not allow himself to be distracted by it, angered now at her defiance of him.

"No! I mean – shouldn't be! I have no idea who you are. You said something about the Kyoshi, though – and you seemed to know Aang."

"Aang?" she asked, like he was the one being stupid. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair, loose and poofing now from the high humidity.

"_The Avatar_. His name is _Aang_. God, woman…"

"Well I'm sorry," Suki spat irritably. "Sorry for not knowing something you never _told_ me. And it was the Kyoshi-Shamans I spoke of. I am the second of them."

"There's more?"

"Only four," she said gently, watching the massive cavern, her foot still wrapped expertly around the vine, and her bare leg was distracting Sokka again. "My brother and sister, and the _isangoma_."

"Isag – what?" he tore his eyes away from her revealed body, and found she was glaring fixedly at him, machete still drawn and glimmering.

"Don't think I haven't noticed those roaming eyes of yours, either," she snarled, pointing the blade menacingly at his chest, and Sokka shrugged sheepishly. She did not, however, seem mortally offended. "The _isangoma_. She is our guidance. Like the Avatar, she can commune with the spirits, and she has forewarned me of these things."

"_What_? Ok, well, if she said you were gone meet me beforehand, why'd you fucking _attack me_?"

"It's not like _that_, you stupid ass –"

The only sound that alerted them to it was a slight patter of feet on stones, and the rustle of the leaves. Sokka turned before she did, and did not even have time to mutter "_oh shit_".

The Fox leapt for Suki without a word, massive teeth blinding white even in the gloom of the forest, a flame amidst the dank, humid presence of the swamp-forest. Suki hardly had time to raise her spear before the Fox took hold of it in his great jaws; with an unbearable snapping, crushing sound the stone shaft of the spear broke and shattered beneath the spirit-beast's jaws, and Suki fell down to the earth, winded and terrified, arms up to shield herself from the flying shards of the spear.

Sokka slid through the mud to get between them, not even daring to think, to draw his black blade. The Fox bristled, greater and stronger than any hellhound, but before he could plunge his teeth into Suki's golden throat Sokka was there, body thrown over the Kyoshi-Shaman heroically. The Fox let out a horrible, otherworldly howl that contained so much wrath and power that Suki let out a gasp of fear beneath Sokka.

_Fool of a human! Move!_

The Fox's mouth was open and dripping, but he could not get around Sokka's arms to attack the Kyoshi-Shaman. Soka reached out to grab the scruff of the beast's neck, and though he failed miserably, it made the Fox jumped back in surprise, eyes like living fire, face so demonic that Suki's mask seemed as harmless as a kitten-bear.

"No! Stop! Um – heel!" shouted Sokka, before realizing what an utterly stupid and disrespectful thing he had said. The Fox continued to growl for a long, agonizing moment, before retreating slowly from the two. Why he would listen to Sokka when he obviously had no loyalties to the Prince would later bother him, but for now it was enough to know the Shaman was safe.

"Are you alright?" he was still over in a protective position, and she was looking up at him with fear still in her eyes.

"…Yes. Thank you," she breathed. Sokka looked down at her awkwardly, blue eyes all but fixed on her clear green ones. He hesitated, realized how close he was to her bared skin, and quickly righted himself. He took her hand and brought her to her feet as well, all without daring to say a word, for fear of what stupid thing he would say.

"Is this…a friend of yours, then?" she asked, trying to remain calm. The Fox snarled.

_We are the Runners. We brought him to the ocean-side. We have guardianship of him._

"W – We?" Suki hesitated to say, but Sokka took her arm gently to calm her. She did not resist, and so he went on to say:

"No, it's just him, he's just weird – look what were you saying? About the Cave?"

"The Cave? Oh!" she stopped and listened again into the vast opening beside her feet, and said quickly: "Yes – the Cave. We should go now, or we'll get caught in the tide. Follow me."

She wrapped the vine back round her leg, slinging her horrific mask over one shoulder and sheathing her machete. She whispered something that sounded like a blessing, or a prayer, and then took a moment to look sideways at the Prince.

"By the way, you owe me a new spear. Ass," then she jumped, sliding down into the opening until the vine was taught, and she climbed down to the Cave floor.

As soon as she had fully descended into the cavern, and was calling up faintly for him to follow, Sokka turned to hiss angrily at the Fox:

"She's a friend, alright? Don't just – attack people like that!"

_She smells of murder._

Sokka ran his hands through his hair exasperatedly, though of the bloody wars of Acchai, and wrapped the vine around his arm.

"This is the world we live in," he said, sadly and sourly. "…Everyone is a murderer."

_Not of the innocent. We will watch her closely._

Then the Fox slid down after Suki, unable to feel the pain when he crashed to the stone several seconds later. Sokka stared after him, unnerved by his words; but eventually he, too, followed into the cave.

* * *

Aang awoke to darkness and despair. He dare not move, though his head was pounding horribly from the blow, and he was lying uncomfortably on a layer of uneven rock. High above him, stalactites glared down menacingly, and from far away was the ringing echo of dripping water. There were no bats or wolf-bats or other cave creatures, not that he could hear or see at least, and this somewhat calmed him. 

From beside him he could hear an irritated groaning, and daring to risk further pain in his skull he rolled over to one side and saw Toph, lying sprawled out beside him, face thrashed and grimy. Her hands were sliding all across the stone, as though she was trying to see what was around her; she must have felt Aang, then, for she reached out blindly towards him and grabbed his arm.

"…Aang?" she whispered, and it was the only time, other than the bandit raid, that Aang could clearly see the fear in her face. "It's you right? I don't think I'm…I'm that well of yet."

"Is me, alrigh', Toph," said Aang, bringing himself over to her by his elbows, and taking her hand in his. She did not move away, but reached out her other arm for him too, so that they brought each other to sitting poition within the darkness of the cave.

"If only I knew how ta' firebend," said Aan wistfully, holding Toph close to him as she placed her dirty feet on the floor, trying to get her bearings. "Dark as all hell in 'ere. Can you see somethin', Toph?"

"…I think there might be a way out," said Toph after some hesitation. Her head was in Aang's shoulder, and though she was no longer as scared or shaken as she was, her hand was still wrapped in his. "Over there, I think."

He pointed off to the left, and Aang lifted her slowly to her feet. With his arm around her waist, and he still wincing from the throbbing of his skull, he followed her direction to a far wall, where a single ray of daylight was glittering through a needle-sized hole.

Toph could not have seen it, and really Aang was hardly able to see it too; but a huge, white lotus flower surrounded the needle-hole, huge as Appa and delicately designed, painted to blend into he structures and textures of the stone wall. It sweeping, colorless petals were marred only with several lengthy stretches of language characters, in everything from _Gev_ to the barbarian tongue to the languages of the Isles, and some of them were unrecognizable in any form. Aang managed to see some if within the faint light issuing from the tiny hole, but it only made him sigh irritably. He told Toph what he saw, but the characters, of course, did nothing for him, and they meant less than a goose-egg to the blind earthbender.

"Righ' pair we make. 'Ere's some big letters prolly tellin' us wha' to do, an' neither us can read worth coppa'," the Avatar muttered humorously.

"Reading's for sissies anyway," said Toph defiantly, and Aang couldn't help but grin.

"All's same, I'll try an' look at it. See if there's anythin' to make out."

He left her there for a moment, though they both parted each other with some hesitation, and tried to make out as much as he could of the wall. When he neared the edge of the lotus petals, he thought he could make out the form of a human foot, and thought it absurdly strange, until he followed the pattern of lines and realized what figure was painted above the opening.

"Some woman's been paint'd 'ere," he said strangely. The sightless being gazed down at him fondly, the flowers at her feet glistening ever so distantly. She had multiple arms, but there were all in positions of goodwill and meditation and peace, her palms imprinted with the same lotus design, and her mouth curved to a faint smile. Aang studied her for a long time, sitting so quietly in a faintly orange robe, and though there were no airbender tattoos on her arms and she was obviously not of this world, somehow the Avatar felt a kinship with her.

"What woman?" Toph had asked, some time ago. Captivated by the dark, obscured presence of the two-dimensional woman, Aang had to take a moment to think before answering her.

"…Think she's a goddess."

"Which one?" said Toph hesitantly. She had been taught her gods and goddesses and necessary spirits from an early age, and though she obviously had no mental images to compare them to, she knew their names and descriptions well enough. "Not Yue, probably – she's the Moon Goddess, she wouldn't be down here. Is is La? Or one of the Tree-Daughters?"

"Nah, don' think is one I eva seen 'er kind 'fore," said Aang honestly. Toph, already bored with the conversation anyways, shrugged nonchalantly and put herself into bending position.

"Well, there's no one on the other side," she said confidently. "Move a little away and I'll bend it open."  
She lifted her foot to ready for the strike, waiting until Aang was fully out of the way, of course. Aang, however, was captivated by the woman, and was drawing closer to the needle-hole of light, wondering what purpose such a tiny opening would serve. Toph groaned irritably and lowered her arms to her sides.

"_Aang_._Move_. What are you waiting for?"

"Is jus'…somethin'. On the wall."

"What something?"

Aang's mind was reeling, and suddenly he knew why he was so entranced with the picture, though it was dark and unreadable and ominous within the Cave. The huge, blaring petals of the lotus glared at him, ad the characters danced like tongues of flame across the wall.

"…Is the sign o' the Lotus, Toph."

Then his eye was level with the opening, and he gazed into the all-knowing, glass slide of the Eye. Toph cried out as a screech from the Void filled the room, and Aang stumbled back, eyes and tattoos and mouth exploded with light.

The spirit wood was cold and bright. It caught Aang off guard and he stood for a moment, perplexed an unused to the disembodied feeling. His feet were on the cold edge of a shallow stream, the light coming down through the thin trees, oddly red for a morning dawn.

"It has been a long time, Aang."

The man across the stream was the oldest creature Aang had ever seen. His white hair was down to his waist, and though his fierce red robe was clean, and his white locks were pinned up with a crested-symbol long forgotten, the lines on hi face were deep and dark with sorrow, and there was a bent weariness to his frame. He looked at Aang kindly, powerful tall within the spirit-realm, hands clasped tightly together beneath his sleeves.

"Avatar Roku?" Aang's voice didn't sound like his. It seemed older, somehow – and miserable.

"There is not much time, Aang," even though Roku, his previous life, was standing calmly and collectively before him, and speaking slowly. "Gyatso introduced me to you, but not well enough for us to speak. You must escape this place. It has been turned to evil purposes, and the _Aravinda_ may consume you if you stay too long. And your captors will return soon"

"Wha'?" said Aang breathlessly. "But, Sokka 'ad a piece a paper, said we'd meet someone ta' 'elp 'ere –"

"It has been five hundred and twenty-four years from your death, Aang," said Roku quickly, and Aang's mouth went dry. "There are very few left who can help you. Once, this gateway was protected by those who knew the truth. They were corrupted. Greed and impatience and lack of faith turned them to this. Now they worship the darkness beneath the mountain, and call this place the Devil's Eye – for they cannot stand to look into the glass, as you could. Two of their most foul hold you captive now – Xin Fu, and Jun, both blood-seekers, and priests of sacrifice."

"I don' –" Aang couldn't move his body, only form the terrified words in his mouth. "I don' understan'. Gyatso took me ta' the Library ta' find out wha' happen'd to ya', to all the Avatars –"

"There were no Avatars, Aang," sad Roku firmly, and there was slight impatience in his voice. "For five hundred years I kept our spirit safe, in the realms between life and death. I could no longer. And so you are sent, again, to finish the mission you began so long ago."

"Wha' a you mean?" said Aang, but there were flashes coming back to him now: a temple on a mountain-top, with a thousand sky-bisons flying through the air; a storm, and the cold reaches of the south – a blind girl with a golden belt, and then a flash of a blackened sun. There was pain, and sudden terror, and dragons gliding through the sky – and then a girl with golden eyes, and the feeling of falling, of the spirits leaving his body…

"You remember, though you do not realize it yet. But I cannot expect you to know it in time. Aang, for five hundred years the people of this world have searched for you. Now you must heed their call. You must restore balance, the same way you once did. You must bring order and peace back to the world."

"How can ya' expect me for tha'?" whispered the airbender, and the total impossibility and futility of it all strangled him. "I can do nothin'. Don' know nothin' about…about nothin'."

"You will, in time," said Roku gently, as though he was talking to a son. "Return to the Library and beseech Wan Shi Tong in my name. He will give you the necessary tools to begin your journey."

"Wha' journey? Wha' you wan' me to do 'ere?"

"You know, Aang," and there was death and grief reflected in Roku's sad eyes. "You must restore balance. The world is far too ruthless. Blood and chaos reign every corner of it."

"So wha' you wan' form me?" Aang was terrified to ask it, but he knew he had to.

"You must show the truth to the Chosen King, and to the Emperor in the East. You must take Zuko, the heir of Agni, to his proper place among them. He is to be a great ruler of the world. They may see the light, if you show them – for they too have simply been deceived by the ancient evils of Long Feng. But Aang –"

Suddenly Roku flinched, and doubled over, as though something deep in stomach pained him. Agony washed over his face for on long, excruciating moment, and then he was straight again, staring at Aang calmly. Yet the moment was there, and Aang remembered it more than anything else from the spirit-realm. Roku, however, continued without hesitation, and without acknowledging the ailment.

"– If things go ill, Aang, and either man refused to hear you, you must take the same action you were forced to take five hundred years ago. You must overthrow them."

Aang's heart seemed to stop, before he realized he was only spirit now, and his heart was back with his body.

"You mean…kill 'em?"

"Whatever it takes to bring truth to the world, and to establish peace," said Roku swiftly, tensely. "And remember, the heir of Agni must travel with you. If all else fails, flee to the Crescent Isles, where the Rebels dwell, and my presence is strongest. I may be able to protect you there, and give you further guidance."

"Roku," said Aang slowly. "There's really no other Avatar been 'ere? Not for all this time?"

"I'm afraid we must save it for our next meeting, Aang."

Aang shuddered and collapsed as the light faded, and he would have smacked his jaw against the floor if not for Toph, who was already shaking him by his shoulders. With all her earthbender strength she propped him back up and looked at her, dazed and trembling, like his spirit had no quite settled back into his body yet.

"They're coming, Aang," Toph was saying,

Then the stone wall exploded behind them, and both benders fell back into defensive position. Xin Fu, with his black tattoos and coal-coated body, came in beneath the lingering dust, the woman in the red cape standing beyond him, motionless and devilish in the dark.

* * *

Katara had still not put on her niqab the next morning. Zuko would have rather been subject to slow, unspeakable bloody tortures rather than have to see her bustle about, startling beautiful face indescribable, untouchable. 

They had just finished a breakfast of mango-fruit and rice. They had spoken a little, but it was mostly of how Zuko felt, and if his chest was still sore, and how well he could breathe. He felt fine, better than he had in weeks, than to her healing hands – but still she was unconvinced, and nothing he sad would stop her from inspecting him, as she did every morning and night.

She had just cleared up the meal, and he standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, following her movement with his eyes. Her startling beautiful face was turned away from him, but he could still see it, clear as day: pale pink lips and dark skin, round full cheeks, eyes like nothing he had ever seen before – blue and cold and endless, like sinking gently into a calm and silent sea.

"Here. Lift your arms up," she said, soon enough. He obeyed without a word. He probably would have done anything she asked at that moment, as long as she did not put on the niqab.

She lifted her small, cool hands to touch his sides, only this time she used no water; she was checking for stiffness and soreness now, as most of the healing had been done. There were scattered scars on Zuko's back now, of varying sizes and depths, but he regarded them little; if Katara was alright with the scar across his eye, then a few cuts on his back was nothing. And he was beginning to be more and more concerned with Katara's preferences these days.

She felt along his sides and up his chest, pressing her fingers in gently to see if any pain or soreness remained. Zuko swallowed and tried to ignore the massaging motion of her hands, answering all her questions in the same quiet, reserved tone. Her body was so close to his he had more than one urge to simply throw her on the couch and have her, right then and there; but he resisted. Oh God, how he resisted – with every lingering fiber of his being, with every last it of is willpower, he resisted.

"I think it's safe to say it," said Katara finally, after she had examined him a long time. Looking up to smile at him, her beautiful, revealed white teeth glittering like pearls, she said. "You're whole again! No more need for any of those bandages, I'd think."

"Thanks to you," said Zuko gently, and Katara smiled at him, turning to grab the scissors to cut of his bandaging with. The same scissors he had used to cut her endless, dark hair. An unveiled face beneath the moon, and a thousand falling stars. With her back to him, he noticed her niqab lying beside her on the side-table, as though she was to put it on after examining him.

And then Zuko realized what he had to do. He picked up the discarded niqab, with his Uncle's wisdom ringing through his head, to remind him of his honor. _Only you can lose your honor. No one can take it from you._

"…You were right."

She turned around to find him face-to-face with her, and when she tried to retreat he backed her into a wall and trapped her. She did not at once attempt to escape, but when he leaned in close to her she writhed a little beneath him, as though she feared, as much as desired, the next action he would take. He lowered his cheek to graze the side of hers, breathing in the deep, clean smell of her hair, of her dark, enticing skin. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, and Katara trembled, putting her hands against his chest to detain him.

"Zuko…" she couldn't find anything to say. Her heart fluttered, danced, panicked.

His lips were at her cheek, breathing gently, struggling not to perform what dark deeds he had imagined during the course of the night. Her hands had still not left his chest.

"You were right, Katara" he whispered, and she shuddered beneath his height. "Acchai changed me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't know why I'm here. But I do know…that you were right."

She looked at him bewildered, but he moved over her and she pressed her back to the wall, not knowing what else to do, as he continued to speak

"I placed my love in someone who never loved me back. Someone who thought I was less, for being born different. I know now that she was wrong, and I never loved her. I thought I knew what love was, and I was wrong. It took the terrors of Acchai, and your kindness…to show it to me. But now I know."

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the closeness of him seemed to silence her. Finally her hands left his chest, and she clasped them together between them, not knowing what else to do.

"Everything in me right now is dying to have you," and she trembled in what he knew was more fear than desire. "…But I won't."

She stopped, and stared at him, as though she was unsure whether or not he was serious. To emphasize his point he backed away from her by a foot, allowing her to creep away if she wished. She didn't move.

"I don't know how you feel for me," he said, and truly there was such confusion in his eyes as would break her heart. "But I know that no matter what it is, you deserve better than I have to give. And you deserve your respect."

Painfully, slowly, regretfully, he raised the niqab and placed it in her hands.

She gaped at him, beautiful pink mouth open slightly, wonderful eyes full of surprise. He bowed his head in embarrassment and shame and made a move to leave, hoping she would take kindly to his gesture. He wanted her. There was no question in that regard. Had he been a weaker man he would have taken her, there and then, in the gloom of the Library – he wouldn't have cared about Sokka's reaction, or even perhaps Katara's own wishes. He would have taken her, blindly and in passion, and he would have been fulfilled.

But he respected and cared for her too greatly, and feared her rejection of him. He would subdue all the desires in the world just to keep her beside him, smiling and kind and carefree.

There is no way to tell what Katara would have said, or done, if they were not interrupted at that moment. Perhaps she would have been dejected, thinking Zuko had no feelings for her after all; or perhaps she would have dropped the niqab and leapt for him right then and there, taking him down onto the couch and making all his most erotic dreams come true. Maybe she just would have stood there, speechless.

But the Foxes were in the doorway, glaring horribly, inhumanly. They saw them at the same time, and it was Katara who finally asked:

"What is it?"

_It is time for the payment of the life-debt._

And they turned their smoldering eyes on Zuko.

* * *

_Isangoma_ is the term for a 'divine healer' from the Zulu African tribe. They predict the future and communicate with ancestors, and are traditionally women. 


	24. Isangoma

Sokka followed Suki through the cavern maze in a trance. His stomach was filled with an ominous, uncomfortable ache brought on by the uncertainty of the venture he was on, and the Fox's brooding, dangerous words. _Everyone is a murderer in this world._

_Not of the innocent_.

He tried to reason out a valid situation where, perhaps, Suki had been compelled to kill, without knowing she slaughtered an innocent – perhaps an accident? But he knew it wasn't so. He put his hand at the hilt of his black sword, regretfully, knowing he could no longer trust the Kyoshi-Shaman. He had hoped, so greatly, for an honest person – one who knew the truth of history and could guide them somehow with this knowledge. His hope was misplaced, as always.

The presence of daylight, descending from one of the cave roofs, signaled they were near. The sun shone down through a dozen or so holes in the ceiling that looked as though they had been smashed out with a heavy hammer, and beneath its shining light a girl was sitting cross-legged on a makeshift mattress of leaves and bamboo stalks. She looked up interestingly when Suki came through the entrance, pausing only vaguely to see the spirit-Fox, the lemur, and the oddly-dressed man beside her.

"Suki? Where you been?"

She looked a few years younger than Toph, about eight or nine, and unlike Suki she possessed great locks of bushy, unmanageable hair that she had somehow tied back into two gigantic braids. Why she didn't just cut it short, or keep it one long lock, perplexed Sokka, before he realized what an oddly feminine thing that was to think. She was not wearing anything above the waist, except for several necklaces of shells and two big, hoped earring, and at first this startled the Prince, so that he instantly averted his eyes. She was not old enough for breasts, though, and there was nothing to see, so his modesty was lost on her. The skins tied around her waist did the job of shielding the rest of her indecency, though her skin was just as gold, and feet and hands just as dirty. Just in front of her, a fat, white cat was swatting at a string of shells she was dangling above it's head.

"Where _have_ you been, Meng – and it's not important."

"Who's a he?" she asked, not even bothering to move from her cross-legged position, the cat swatting in vain at her swinging string of shells.

"Who _is_ he, and that's also not important. Is the _isangoma _here?"

"'Course she be. Had Sneers go n' pick her a bunch o' that root again, mind. She's 'bout to have one of her fits again too, I'd bet."

"We can't wait," said Suki briskly, and strode past the small girl, gesturing only faintly for Sokka to follow. Meng seemed instantly disinterested, though she did rise as if to leave, casting a wary eye on the Prince as he filed in to the next room after Suki.

This room, unlike the previous, was filled out with all manner of odd things. In the midst of the cavern walls, a huge, black pot was simmering gently over a ramshackle fire, though the liquid was mud-brown and the smell from it was horrifying. Bird and rabbit bones hung on chains from the ceiling, nestled uncomfortably close to strings of green and red herbs, all dried and cracking, and every now and then a line of spring onions struggled for room. There were three flat, wooden tables, all covered with every many of forest root and fruit and flower, as well as dried snake-skins, pieces of catgator tails and bluebird feathers, and jagaur teeth still bloody from removal. On one table, the carcass of some large rodent was resting in a gruesome fashion, torn open by a dull knife, several organs missing or mutilated in such a fashion that even Sokka, who had witnessed things ten times as grisly on the battlefield, felt his stomach rise in his throat.

He looked at Suki, who seemed to apologize for the state of the room from behind her green eyes, and then stepped forth to address the creature sitting in the midst of the room. She was sitting in a chair, back towards them, her gnarled hands wrapped around a string of what Sokka could only assume was the dead rodent's intestines.

"I've brought him to you, _isangoma_."

The woman seemed to pause, taking an eternity to put the organ down on the tabletop. Sokka prepared himself for the hideous manner and sight he expected of the _isangoma_, and watched her as she turned.

As wild as Sokka had thought Suki, the woman before him surpassed her in every regard. Her long, tangled, dreadlocked grey hair was full of leaves and twigs and, in all probability, a few lice and bugs as well; she smelled so horrible that even Sokka, who had the worst smelling feet of any man he knew, turned up his nose instinctively. Her hands were dark with dirt, feet fungus-ridden and sickening, finger and toenails long and dirty and broken; everywhere she was splotched with bits of mud and dead leaves and forest decay, as part of the jungle as the earth itself. Her clothing was as old as she, and twice as filthy, so that is resembled no more than the matted fur of some dead thing; there was the rumor of designs, of stitched characters and pictures on the fabric, but they were faded and gone. The old, creased wrinkles on her face were hidden behind the matted locks of her dry hair, but even Sokka could tell she possessed a manic expression, with stripes and blotches of red across her hollowed cheeks.

She did not seem to regard Suki or Sokka, looking passed them like they were no more than fleeting shadows on the wall. She was muttering under her breathe what sounded to the Prince like a lengthy spell or curse, or perhaps just jibberish in some foreign tongue. All the while Sokka was there she never looked either one of them in the eyes, and probably to their benefit; there was lunacy, and dark secrets, and uncertainty in her gaze.

The Fox beside Sokka began to growl.

She smiled, horrifically, and her teeth were golden and rotted.

"Come here, doggie doggie."

She rose from her seat, and it was like watching a corpse come to life again. Sokka nearly winced at the sight of it, but resisted. Suki had placed a tense hand on his arm, as though to keep him from running – but the most unnerving thing was the Fox, which was snarling loudly and retreating to the wall.

Her mad eyes were fixed on the Spirit-being, and the Fox seemed utterly terrified, all of its white fangs revealed and gleaming. Momo hissed and hid himself inside Sokka's shirt, as Suki tried to say something to detain the _isangoma_.

It happened too fast for either of them to react. The _isangoma_ threw out her hand, palm face-down, towards the Fox, who looked as though he would snap it off; and she began to laugh.

The Fox let out a horrible scream and writhed beneath her palm, yelping uncontrollably and kicking wildly, as though she tortured the very depths of his spirit. His glowing, grey-stained coat burst suddenly with such vibrant red color that Sokka leapt forth, fearing the Fox had erupted into flame; then he saw, only, that the Fox's fur had changed to a brilliant orange-crimson, legs and ears still black as death. His teeth seemed to broaden and lengthen, and his claws curled differently. When the _isangoma_ finally released him from whatever spell she had cast, he cried out, stumbling back against the wall, looking completely unlike the rest of the Foxes of the Library, and considerably weaker.

The Fox slumped limply on the cavern floor and whimpered pitifully, and to Sokka's fury and surprise the old woman danced to his side, laughing horribly.

"Ha! Now see if you will run with your Pack!" she cackled like she had made an absurdly funny joke, and shoved Sokka in the arm. "Laugh, you pile of shit-_ake_! Ha Ha!"

"What did you do to him?" Sokka bellowed, and Suki had to thrust out an arm to keep him from grabbing the old woman and shaking her violently. Momo hissed at the _isangoma_ wrathfully and leapt to the Fox's side to comfort the poor beast. Neither Sokka nor Momo had ever shown particular affection for the Fox-beings, but this particular one had helped them and carried them to unreachable places, all without a word of complaint, and a kinship existed between them.

"You will thank me for it before the next sun sets, little Prince-man," she hissed, and suddenly she skipped backwards with all the grace and nimbleness of child, and began to mutter again, hopping from foot to foot, her head bowed downward. Sokka stared at her incredulously, as all the while her shoulders shook and shuddered with laughter.

"To free a mind!" she snarled at some point, and threw back her head and cackled hoarsely, fanatical expression as unreal as Suki's mask. "To free a mind, to lose purpose, to instate the tyranny of the _conscience_!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sokka cursed, and Suki hissed something at him that he was too angry to hear. "What the fuck did you _do_?"

"I made him," she cackled, picking up a string of fish bones and twirling with it, as though she danced with an imaginary lover. Sokka made another move to attack her, but Suki put herself before him, a human shield.

"_Isangoma_! You said to bring him here to help him – you said you'd give him advice –"

"You want advice? For the meat-hungry, blood-man Prince of Acchai? For the bastard child of the Snowy Chief? Tell him, then, that his Avatar needs to learn to pay attention to his surroundings."

She strode over to her dead rodent and raised a dull cleaver, bringing it down with a sick, squelching thud, hacking its lung in two. With her other hands she took some fine powder from the standing bowl beside her, banged her drug-filled fist on the table, and snorted it into one wide, red nostril. Sokka watched her in rage and disbelief, before realizing she had mentioned Aang.

"What do you know about the Avatar?" he snarled, striding forth again, despite Suki's hand at his shoulder.

"That he failed!" and then the mirth was gone from her face, and she whipped about to glare at Sokka through wide, unseeing eyes, golden teeth bared like an animal beneath her lip. "That he will try again. That the warrior will fall. That you will have _her _on her back and in bed in no time."

She pointed blatantly at Suki, who gasped in blind offense of the statement, and this time Sokka had to stop her from leaping at the old woman, for fear she may not answer what questions he had.

"You know what he's supposed to do?" he asked, desperately, as Suki cussed under her breathe. "You know why the Avatar's here now, and what he's supposed to do?"

She snarled as if Sokka had somehow offended her, and in subtle rage she picked up the half-cut lung and flung it at his head. Sokka just managed to duck it and it slammed into the wall behind him, exploding into a miniature gory shower and upsetting Momo, who was still trying to comfort the Fox. When he looked back to see where she had gone, he found her rifling through a great stack of odd bottle and things, until she found one in particular at its very base.

"Shut your fat, foolish mouth and take this," she shoved something blindly into his hands. It was a small vial,blue and intricately painted, plugged with a small glass stopper.

"What is this?" Sokka as afraid to ask, though he did begin to pull

"What is _this_, ma'am? What is_ this_? If it were important to you, you'd _know_ it. Don't be a bloody ass and go opening things you have no right to open! I said _take,_ _take_ – not, _open, open_!"

"I'm – I'm sorry. But – but what do I do with it then?"

"That is your choice. Each sister will beseech you, and only one end is happy," she cackled, and then added, as though it concerned her very little. "And put your manhood to good use with this one. Those who give much, desire much in return."

Suki had already half-drawn her machete before Sokka could stop her. Her mouth was spinning over curses that made even Sokka uneasy, and she glared at the _isangoma_ with such blind hatred that it seemed impossible she had brought Sokka here with intent to help him. The Prince began to wonder, in fact, how Suki had ever come to respect the old woman at all. Perhaps this was the first time she had ever spoken to the Kyoshi-Shaman in that way.

"Miserable…bitch…" and Suki stormed out of the room, muttering irritably. Sokka turned on the _isangoma_ full of hatred and disbelief, that someone so blunt and cruel and savage could actually be trying to help him.

"You're a sick, drugged mad-woman," he said bluntly, and she whirled on him in her grisly fashion, suddenly right before his face, eyes level and staring at his chest.

"I think, Princey-man," she said, putting on gnarled, disgusting hand on the side of his face, so that he flinched visibly. "I think you should go, before they _both_ die."

And again, she laughed, rotted teeth glistening, with the dishonored Fox quivering and whimpering behind her.

_**Break**_

Toph yelled, threw forth her arm, and slammed her bared foot onto the stone earth with a painful, echoing _boom_.

The ground tore up before them, daggered shards of earth the blind earthbender raised like rows of armed soldiers, sending them forth to battle with one violent motion of her arm. The woman in the blood-red cape moved like a cat; between and around and beneath the rock she dove, and uncurling her luscious whip she harnessed the ferocity of Toph's attacks and leapt from the edges of her boulders, rocketing down towards the girl like an angel from hell, the crimson cape streaming behind her. Her eyes were hollow and black.

She never made it. The slick slice of captured air caught her full in her unprotected side, and she flew back against the cave wall, falling deafly to the earth beneath a shower of dust and stone. Aang did not hesitate, or stay to counter the onslaught of Xin Fu; already coal and mud-covered followers of the demonic cult were filing in through the entrance, bodies as blank as shadows, though the knives and clubs in their hands glistened maliciously.

Toph gave a cry that was nearly as elated as it was afraid, and hammered her feet into the ground, sending great pillars up beneath their attackers and pinning them to the ceiling. It worked only for a moment, before her pillars were crushed by the ruthless Xin Fu, now a foot from Aang, fists coated in stone.

Aang did not try to flee at once, though he dodged Xin Fu's punch and was able to slide beneath the earthbender's legs – but in vain, as the man's other fist was there to meet him, and it glanced Aang's shoulder before he could get away. After that, the world comprised only of the two, as Toph struggled to keep the waves of cultists at bay beside them. Had it not been for the airbender lightness of Aang's movement, and his ability to evade, adapt, and counter each attack Xin Fu threw at him, he would have been instantly outmatched.

At first it was close hand-to-hand, and the whole time Aang kept up strictly defense, too startled by the power and ferocity of the man to attempt an attack himself. Not even a minute in his forearms were already sore and bruised from deflecting blow after blow, and his shins were dying from countering kicks. As soon as he realized the impenetrability of his enemy's defense, however, he changed tactics and berated the airbender with such a series of flying stones and jagged earth-daggers that the Avatar could hardly get in a breathe to ask why the man was attacking in the first place.

"Stop! Please! We don' wanna 'urt you!" Aang tried desperately. A boulder rocketed up towards him and he leapt towards a cavern wall, bending out the air beneath him to soften the landing, as Xin Fu re-adjusted and placed himself into another offensive stance.

"You have looked into the Eye."

It was all he ever said to the Avatar.

The waves of coal-coated cultists poured in through the door, and now Jun, the blood-caped woman, was back, and her target was Aang. Finally managing a clean cut of wind to trip and down Xin Fu, the airbender found himself beset by the blinding white blade of the her scimitar, and retreated towards Toph as Xin Fu struggled back to his feet. The blade rang like lightning, following him as he tried to shield himself from the flying rock and stone and arrows, never allowing her whip to curl around her ankle and trip him. The enemy was encircling them slowly, and Aang knew it; desperately, he kicked up a gust of air to throw Jun off for a moment, landing beside Toph.

"Toph! You gotta get us out ta' 'ere!"

She barely deflected an attack from Xin Fu, having to counter a side-rock from some other earthbending cultist, before the blood-caped woman was whipping at her ankles. Aang managed to get between them in time, sliding his staff in the line of the whip, so that it curled around the glider's shaft. He pulled her to him, her empty eyes startled and wide behind her black hair, and sent her flying of again with one wind-coated punch to the chest. Toph bended a square wall of rock above them, and a number of blades embedded themselves in the stone.

"What about Appa?" she cried out, kicking her heel backwards to catch a man coming at her from the side.

Aang swept away the next line of men, all of them bearing great clubs and make-shift blades and fouler, crueler weapons that sent rivers of fear running through him, before he realized he had forgotten about the sky-bison.

"I don' know! Can you find 'im?"

"Well – through there, I think –"

She didn't finish. Aang had already located the direction she was pointing – through the jagged opening where the cultists had come – and swept out a stream of air that made all their attackers duck defensively. Toph gasped as his arm wrapped around her waist and he took in such an enormous breathe as would have made the Wind-God jealous; then he blew, rocketing them clear past the dust and debris and battle, and into the darkness of the entrance.

He fumbled to a stop when they entered a cave that seemed a meeting place of about a dozen tunnels. Several cultists were assembled here, but they were only children or unarmed mothers, none of which seemed fit to fight, and they all fled before the two strangers. Aang placed Toph on the floor again, hearing full well the thunder of following feet behind him, the roar of an enraged Xin Fu and the overcoming swiftness of the blood-caped Jun.

"Where from 'ere?" he asked, panicked, facing back the way they had come.

"Um – up! That way!" Toph stuttered, though her direction was confident.

Aang harnessed the limited air in the cavern and lifted her up again, taking off so swiftly she barely had time to catch her breathe – then he was bearing her away, faster than a sprung arrow. Jun landed in behind them just as he took off, quick as lightning. She sprung into another cave, rounding about to meet them in the cavern where Appa lay, roaring in anguish and wrath.

Through two more tunnels and another cavern Toph led him, and all the while Xin Fu and their enemies kept pace enough behind them, and from somewhere in the thin catacombs above, Jun was getting ahead of them.

"There! _There_!"

Aang leapt to follow her direction, and they tumbled into a huge, nearly empty cavern, bordered by what Aang knew as a bleak and empty Pit. Appa was strapped down beside it, writhing against his ropes, the guard on him gone to fight with Xin Fu. Aang came in bordering the Pit, which descended down beside them like the gaping mouth of some famished beast, hungry and craving for their souls. Aang regarded it briefly, and cussed when he saw the extent of Appa's bindings.

"Fuckin' tied 'im –"

But Aang did not stop to despair. Already he had leapt high into the air, landing Toph safely in the bison's unstrapped saddle, though she only gripped blindly and fearfully to the leather. He had an urge to embrace her and comfort her – but he resisted, if only to save them both.

"Stay 'ere, Toph, you can bend us out the roof when 'e's free –"

"But Aang, you said he's tied, and they're coming through –"

"Bend up a wall or somethin', then! Jus' keep 'em back!"

He leapt from the saddle as she obeyed, running with the wind in his heels, hacking the ropes off with concentrated strikes of his staff, and was about halfway done before the scimitar came down and sliced a shallow gash into his shoulder.

He cried out in brief pain and flipped high over there as she made the killing stroke. Her blade met only air and she stumbled back to the Pit-side, as Aang landed expertly and wrathfully a few feet away. Appa roared and ripped the remaining ropes from his body, just as Jun raised herself to face the Avatar again.

Aang had already raised his staff to cast her back into the Pit, heedless now of being merciful, wanting only to be rid of her and her crimson-caped devilry. Swift and cunning as death, and unseen by the Avatar, she drew a half-foot-long curved knife and flung it across the room.

The blade tore through Aang, faster and hotter than a streak of lightning. It came out clean the other side, glistening in the lamplight, before striking the wall and clattering innocently to the floor.

Aang had already thrown down his staff, to strike the blood-caped woman, when the blade went through. His gust flung her over the cavern side, though she scrabbled blindly at the stone, and she plummeted down, helplessly, into the hungry shadows of the Pit.

He still hadn't realized it when he turned to climb up Appa's reins, Toph shielding them from approaching enemies, the rock wall standing strong. Aang felt like his stomach had dropped out, and he was going to be sick from the pressure of the fight – but shock had numbed him to the pain of the gaping hole, too fueled with adrenaline and desperation and fear. There was no one around, of course, to tell him how abruptly pale he had gone.

But as he reached the nook of the bison's neck and brought up the reins, he saw the trail of red dripping down the bison's shaggy white head, the dark, gory stains against Appa's colorless fur. A dreadful, ignorant fear overcame him that the cultists had deeply harmed the flying beast.

"Appa? Appa, wha's wrong? Wha' they do to ya' –"

It was when he put his own hand onto his own splotches of blood that he realized his legs were limp and his stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out. He doubled over involuntarily, convulsing horribly, and vomited blood over the side of the bison's head.

He saw the muted, but growing spot of wet crimson on the lining of shirt in a distant, distorted way. It seemed to boil over into his hands and rise up in his throat, like he drowned from the inside out. The taste of blood and bile in his mouth was so strong it was making him gag.

"Aang! What are we waiting for?" Toph screamed, as Xin Fu headbutted his way through her rock-wall. Aang dare not turn around to look at her, but finally clutched the wound in sudden panic and despair.

"…_Yip yip_!" he coughed it out with slick ropes of blood hanging down his lip.

Appa leapt into the air and Toph dutifully earthbend-smashed her way through the cavern ceiling for what seemed an age. Aang fell back against the front of the saddle, eyes closed tightly as he gasped and tried not to hyperventilate. Right as Toph smashed through the last layer of rock, and they met the blazing blue sky head-on, he remembered his lessons and dug his fist into the wound to stop the bleeding, still not aware that blood was slowly seeping from the exit wound in back.

An earthbender saved the Jun from the Pit. In fury and shame she drew her scimitar and hacked off his head the moment her stance was stable; Xin Fu regarded her briefly, uninterestedly, and ordered for the Wasps to be loosed.

_**Break**_

Ok, _isangomas_ are not that creepy, as far as I know. Think of like, the "Herbalist Lady" from Avatar (Blue Spirit episode) crossed with that creepy witch-lady from Tim Burton's "Sleepy Hollow", except less possessed. Or something.

And the Fox with Sokka basically turned into a big Maned Wolf, like the ones from South America.


	25. Survive

I rushed a bit through this chapter, but I need to pick up the pace, man. Who will surviiiive???

Chuck Norris, of course.

_**Break**_

Zuko was afraid.

He had been afraid in _Balda Haram_, when Jet had so calmly lowered the tiger-hook sword to his chest, as the building burned and shuddered and collapsed around them. He had been afraid when Jeong-Jeong ignited his snow-white flames and tried to sear the flesh from his bone in the courtyard at Al-Abhad. He had been afraid when he saw the length of the Rope Walk, and the line of barbarians waiting for him on either side, lusting for the kill.

He knew the feeling of fear. He knew how to subdue it, manage it, keep it from controlling him.

But not this time.

Not with Katara on the floor, the Fox's teeth wrapped so dangerously around her neck, so close to tearing out her throat that her skin was rubbing red and raw beneath each fang.

"Zuko…" her voice was terrified, and he couldn't move to save her.

_Do what we have asked of you, or her life is ours by right._

The Fox's voice sparked at his fear and it exploded into a blind fury, so that his hands erupted into red flame, blinding beneath the dark gloom of the Library.

"She hasn't done anything to you! Leave her alone – God, you fucking pack of –"

The Foxes all bristled and began to growl as Zuko's temper rose, and the red flame around his fists bloomed a brilliant white. Katara gave a halted gasp of pain as the Fox's jaw tightened ever so slightly about her flesh, cutting briefly, letting a faint sliver of red run down her neck.

"Alright! Alright!" Zuko's said, haltingly. His flame went out instantly, and he raised his palms in surrender, eyes wide and focused on Katara. "I'll do it! God, Agni, just – let her go, please –"

For a moment, the Fox who held Katara glared at the heir of Agni, each flaming hair still prickled menacingly on its hide, lip curled up to reveal it's line of fangs, eyes like black fire in the torchlight. Then, ever so slowly, it's jaw slackened, and the soundless voice of another Fox drifted to Zuko's ear.

_Your words are honest._

The Fox released Katara, and she scrambled across the floor to Zuko, who met her in a desperate sort of embrace. As soon as she was in his arms, hands gripping at his still-bared chest, he heard her voice drift up fiercely to his ear.

"You can't, Zuko, it's suicide, they can't make you do this –"

The Fox behind her gave such a deep, guttural snarl that her hands tightened on Zuko's skin and Zuko fingers sparked briefly with flame.

"Just go back to the room and stay there, Katara," he hissed in her ear, but he held her for another terrible second before releasing her. She tried not to let go of him, but he pushed past her towards the Foxes, who were waiting expectantly. He did not want to have to look at her.

"No, I won't!" she called after him, and he stopped dead, feeling like someone had stabbed it. "You stupid – this isn't fair, and I won't let you –"

"I have to do what they say, Katara!" he yelled, though he had very little knowledge of the Spirit-law, aside from the Foxes claim of his life-debt. He whirled back and approached her, trying to beseech her with his eyes, pleading golden fires. "You try and stop it, they'll kill you, and I'm – that's not fucking happening, so go back to the room –"

"No! If – If you won't listen to me, I'll – I'll help you, I'll fight with you –"

"No!" he shouted, looming over her in a wrath, and in fact the ferocity in his voice startled her so badly, she retreated a step, and he felt a rush of guilt. "Don't argue with me. I mean – please."

She recovered her courage and stepped towards him again, so she was looking up at him, unveiled, beautiful face afraid and worried and utterly defiant. It made Zuko ache, ache to be a thousand miles away with her, somewhere that wasn't barbaric and cruel and twisted, far from the Union and Acchai and all the issues of this fucked-up world, well beyond saving. Made him ache, and regret not acting on his previous aches for her.

"I'm not going to let you do this," she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "…I'm just not."

_He is not yours._

The Fox's jaw snapped suddenly and jerked back Zuko's arm in a none-too gently grip, so that the firebender smashed down to the floor, dragged by the impatient spirit-beast. The Fox dragged him so swiftly away that he hardly had time to cry in surprise, and Katara fumbled down and tripped trying to follow him.

"Let him go!" Katara screamed it on her knees, clambering up to run after him, before the Foxes swept before her, eyes more scorching than living fire.

_He is not yours._

_**Break**_

"Meng! Get the ostriches saddled. Do it now."

"What? Wha she say to ya', Suki –"

"Just do it!"

Suki brushed past her sister, blind to the poor girl's confusion, and rushed into another room. Sokka followed at her heels, bewildered and aggravated and still uneasy from their encounter with the _isangoma_.

"What's going on?"

She had a satchel in her hands and was throwing random things into it; a pair of fans, for one, and a whetting stone for her machete, and a change of clothes (though Sokka could hardly call them clothes anyway) and what kind of looked like a bag of dried, dead frogs.

"Obviously your friends are in trouble," she snapped, with such passion that Sokka stepped back out of the doorway, startled. The savage woman threw several unimportant, but necessary things into her bag – rope

"Hey…you don't have to get testy," said Sokka, loudly and offensively. "I just wanted to know what –"

"You have no idea what she gave you, do you?" spat Suki suddenly, whirling on the Prince. "You have _no_ idea – probably the most valuable thing on the face of this earth and she gives it to _you_. I can't believe it! You're nothing but – but an idiotic ass! You probably just stumbled across the Avatar by accident, didn't you? You have no idea what all this is leading to – you're just stringing it along because you read something in a Library and it made you feel important. Don't feel important enough, do you?"

"You –" Sokka wanted to curse at her, but she was looking at him with such fierce, confident, beautiful green eyes that he couldn't get his tongue to work. For a minute he wavered, and raised and lowered his hands angrily, until he finally blurted out:

"You _bitch_! Who the hell do you think _you_ are? Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that! You lead me into the middle of a fucking jungle, I'm practically getting eaten alive by damn mosquitos, you never _once _explain any damn thing to me – I came here looking for answers, because yeah, I found out some truth in that Library and I'm trying to set things straight! And the most you did to help me was what? – You threw to me into that room with some deranged woman, who probably wanted to cut up my liver and make soup out of it!"

He glared at her, unaware how close she actually was to him, pride abruptly bruised by her sudden vehemence. She stared back at him defiantly for a moment, as though she would explode again; but suddenly she seemed to realize the childishness of her words and deflate in confidence, so that Sokka almost felt bad for yelling back at her.

"…I'm sorry. You're right," she said, haltingly, green eyes embarrassed and unsure. "…That was unfair. I'm just…it's always very frustrating to visit with the _isangoma_. She's never given me a coherent piece of advice before – not like she did to you."

"You're calling _that_ coherent?" Sokka said it instantly and incredulously. Suki smiled and rewarded him with the smallest, faintest laugh.

"Well…more coherent than usual…"

Sokka would have grinned, if he hadn't realized then that she wasn't the only one who exploded, and nervously decided it would be in his greater honor to apologize for…certain things said on his account.

"I'm…sorry I called you a…you know –"

"A bitch?" she said, bluntly, but she was still smiling gently.

"Yeah….sorry…" said the Prince sheepishly. "You were right though. I did meet him by accident. The Avatar – Aang."

"Really?"

"Yeah. On a train…"

At that moment the Fox stumbled in after them, gazing out ahead, and there was instability in his stride. He looked unwell; his coat had lost is sheen, and the fire in his eyes had dulled considerably. Sokka looked at him worriedly, ignoring Momo, who was sitting in the hunch between his shoulder-blades.

"Hey, uh, Fox – are you alright?"

The Fox looked straight past him, out of one of the cave entrances, the putrid smell from the _isangoma_'s pot still billowing out behind him. As if a fire had been lit on it's skin, to Fox's grey and smoldering coat was now he was crimson and flaming; only the dark stripe along it's massive back disrupted the brilliance of its coat, and as they watched the dull pain seeped out of his eyes, and the strength came back.

_I am Myobu. I am the Voice of Inari._

"Look, could you stop with the creepy voodoo words?" said Sokka exasperatedly. The Fox seemed to pointedly ignore him, looking off silently into the jungle, ears turning as though he listened to some far-off sound. Sokka groaned irately and turned back to Suki, who was watching the Fox apprehensively.

"So – so Suki, you're going to lend me an ostrich-horse? To get back to the Desert?"

"Um – yes," Suki was hesitant beside the changed Fox-being. "We should be able to reach the Desert in several days, I think –"

_No. There is no time for that. Ride on me._

The Fox swept suddenly in between the two, positioning himself perfectly for both Suki and Sokka to mount. How the Spirit-being knew, inherently, that Suki needed to come as well was irrelevant. Sokka looked at her, seeing the obvious uncertainty on her face, and heroically tried to reason with the Fox.

"Look – Myobu, was it? Its alright, Katara and the rest of them can wait a few extra days. We'll give you a rest, you don't seem too well right now –"

But the ferocity and sincerity in which the Fox snarled his next words was so compelling that even Suki, who knew nothing of Sokka's sisters, nor Zuko, nor Aang, not even anything of the Runners – was abruptly flushed with fear.

_The Runners have deceived you, Aurora Prince! Come – ride, now! _

When Meng brought the ostrich-horses around for Suki, she found the caves deserted.

"Where'd everyone go?"

_**Break**_

The Foxes flung Zuko, arm riddled with shallow cuts from their daggered teeth, towards the dark, endless form of Wan Shi Tong. The Owl's back was to the firebender, but he was silent and expectant as Zuko stood, carefully, not knowing what to expect from the spirit. The Foxes took up their positions at every door, snarling at Zuko every time he looked to one of them for escape. The great Owl was loomed over a desk coated in scrolls: pictures of comets, and black suns, and a man with a flaming fist in his chest.

"Come to pay your debt, heir of Agni?"

Zuko stood motionless beneath the great Owl's massive form, a fly beneath the shadow of a lion. The bright flame curled slowly around his wrists, delicate and deceptively beautiful.

"Yes. And I'm sorry for it."

The great Owl shuddered, feathers still black and dull despite the light of Zuko's flames, and turned, faster than lightning.

"You should know better than to trust the Runners!"

Zuko praised whatever God had saved him from the train-leap, had saved him from Rope Walk, and swept up the torrent of his crimson flame. Wan Shi Tong screeched, heedless of the fire; in one swift motion he bared his daggered beak and swept down to devour the firebender.

_**Break**_

Aang had lost almost two pints of blood.

His skin was cool and slick with sweat, and the world was spinning, the wind loud and aching in his ears.He couldn't feel it, or see it himself, but his face was white as death, and his breathe was coming in as short, rapid bursts.

They had been air-borne for about twenty minutes before Toph calmed down enough to turn her focus on Aang, and when she heard the unexpected sound of his irregular breathing coming from the head of the saddle, she clambered toward him despite her former fears.

"Aang? Are you alright?"

He didn't answer her, which both annoyed and paralyzed her, so that it took her near on a full minute to manage the strength to climb over to him. It was time wasted, though she did not know it; Aang's fist was still shoved into the open wound beneath his ribs, and the bleeding had decreased – but the exit wound was untouched, still pouring freely onto Appa's thick, brilliant white fur.

Toph found his shoulder after several failed attempts, pressed limply against the front of the saddle. As she positioned herself beside him, still annoyed that he was so silent and unmoving, her hands and body seemed to move, unknowingly, just out of range of his bloody, torn shirt, the massive, red stain forming beneath and behind him.

She did as Song had instructed her in such situations; she pressed her fingers to Aang's neck and checked for a pulse. She had hoped to find a sleepily steady one, while in her greatest fears she had expected not to find one at all; what she did not expect was the rapid, panicked rate she felt beneath her hands, the sign of sudden shock.

"Aang – your pulse is really fast – Aang are you hurt?"

Dazed with fear, she reached her hands to check his chest, but had only to move her hand in the slightest to meet the warm liquid oozing from his shirt. Even as a blind girl, she knew what it was, and her heart stopped.

"Oh my God – oh God you – you _stupid_ –"

Toph did not get squeamish at the sight of blood, most likely because she had never seen it herself. Cool and quick, she searched the rest of him for any other wounds, and cursed when she found the untended exit wound in his back. His right hand he still had shoved deeply into the opening in front, and she decided to leave it there. Undoing her niqab, she took the clothe and pressed it to the pulsing wound, and within moments she could feel the blood soaking through. Angrily, she turned blindly to the airbender, who was staring at her dizzily.

"God – what is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me –" Aang looked at her lazily, only half-conscious from the extent of the blood loss.

"Didn' wan'…ta' scare…ya'…" he swallowed what looked like crimson bile, though Toph couldn't see it. "You…You took it off…tha'….tha' thing…you sure ar'…ar' a pretty sight, there…"

Toph managed to calm down enough to realize that Aang was probably faint and confused and weak, and that getting angry, and possibly aggravating him in such a vulnerable state was not the best idea. Struggling to compose herself, she prayed, hoping with all her strength that Appa was flying in the right direction to the Library, and her healing sister.

"Yeah, you just keep on talking, Aang," she said, though she had no idea if this was what he should do in the least, though she knew vaguely that she didn't want him fainting. "You just – just tell me how pretty I am, alright?"

"Yeah…pretty eyes, you…even tho' you blind…pretty as all is good…"

"That's right, I'm very pretty – you just keep talking about that…"

But Aang's words had become slurred and incoherent, and as Toph tried to wrap the clothe of her niqab tight around the Avatar's back, the last reserves of his strength gave out. The blood-drenched hand pressed inside his wound suddenly went limp, and he began to mutter something that made no sense to Toph.

"Gotta' keep 'em outta the garden, see," he said, lolling weakly against Appa's saddle. "S'not good. Crows in tha' garden. Hate crows, I do. Eva' tell you that, Toph? Remind me a'…a'…somethin'…"

"Aang? Aang! Stay awake!" Toph floundered to find his face, and felt a sweeping wave of panic when she felt how cold and clammy he was.

"Aang, you're going to be alright – I mean, you're such a dunderhead," and she laughed, nervously, fearfully, desperately. "This is nothing! Look at you, making a big deal out of this. You – you stupid ass…"

But she realized then that her voice had gone high, and her body was shaking, and there was nothing she could do to stop her hands from trembling at his face. Wracked with guilt and fear, and feeling utterly and horribly helpless, she ran her hand along the Avatar's cheek and tried to say something to convince them both that Aang wasn't dying in her arms.

Aang must have summoned ever particle of strength in his body, fighting the consuming panic of his heart rate, to lift his fingers to brush Toph's. He only managed it a moment, for as soon as Toph took his hand it went limp again, dead weight against her palm.

"Is pretty bad…ain't it?" he whispered it, and started to cough violently.

And suddenly Toph realized she would give anything to be able to see Aang's face, no matter how pale and bloody it was.

Then the drone of a hundred beating wings began to rise on the wind.

_**Break**_

Katara followed the Foxes blindly through the halls, heedless of their words. Her heart was screaming Zuko's name, screaming to the heavens for help, for guidance, long before she reached the room where all the tapestries were on fire and Wan Shi Tong was screeching like a vengeful ghost.

Appa stumbled to the base of the Library's pinnacle with the drone of the buzzard-Wasps close behind. Toph held Aang to her, knowing she would never be able to get him down without harming him, and unaware what the horrible droning noise was coming from. She had never heard such a sound before, but as it increased she knew, without a doubt, that it was not friendly – and that it was coming for them.

"Not much 'elp, am I?" Aang muttered, and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fainted in Toph's arms.

"Aang? Aang! No – no, come on –"

She was checking for his pulse again when Myobu's black foot first touched sand. Now, when Myobu had been a Runner, he was like lightning; Sokka had to close his eyes as he ran, leaping acres with each stride, heedless of rock or tree or root, knowing the paths that lay before him. He was a Runner, and his purpose was to run – it was why they were able to bring so many scrolls and books and histories to the Library for preservation, as they could attain it almost as soon as it was written. It was also the reason they were enslaved to Wan Shi Tong, valued for their talents, but never allowed from his service. The cursed Owl and his cursed servants.

But the _isangoma_ had broken the rules. This Fox was Myobu again. There was speed in his stride that the Runners could only whine at.

So when The Fox reached the Library pinnacle, it was at the same moment the horde of Wasps swept down upon Toph and Aang, huddled still on Appa's head. Appa was roaring fiercely, swinging his tail around to defend his masters, sending great sections of the horde flying off into the Desert, and all to no avail; the Wasps were uncountable, black stinger glinting like sword against their putrid yellow bodies. One was upon Aang and Toph now, awkward jaw bared and hissing, black stinger glinting in the sunlight.

It fell with the sharpened edge of a fan-blade in its neck. Suki did not know the two upon the bison's head, nor even what the Wasp-creatures were he was attacking – but she knew predator and prey when she saw them. Sokka was just as aware of the Wasps, but far more concerned with the sight of his unveiled sister, leaning over the motionless, apparently unconscious Avatar.

"Toph! Toph what –"

To his surprise, the Fox bucked, throwing them both clear to the Desert floor. The landed roughly beside the grounded sky-bison, Sokka spitting out sand irritably. Before he could even pull himself up, though, Myobu's crystal voice was rising above the unbearable drone of the Wasp wings.

_Go! Bring him to your sister! Save the Avatar!_

And then Myobu made a huge, valiant leap up Appa's side, flying fang-first into the throat of a vulture-wasp. The giant insect screeched and fell beneath the Fox's teeth, trying in vain to writhe around and sting the Spirit-beast, before crashing down to the Desert and sending up a shower of crimson sand.

Sokka was already at Appa's side, and Suki had drawn her machete to aid Myobu. With one swift motion he had Toph down from the bison's head, but she was kicking and screaming, trying to get back at Aang.

"Let go of me, ass! He's dying!" she screeched, but Sokka just placed her on the sand as the Fox ripped its way before them, their sole defense against the legions of Wasps sent by Xin Fu.

"I am so _sick_ of people calling me an ass today," said Sokka irritably, already up on Appa with Aang half way in his arms, dragging him off the side. Aang lolled, limply and unresponsively, in the Prince's arms, not even reacting when Sokka accidentally dropped him to the sand.

Suki was on Appa's saddle, the Wasps surrounding her as a dark, droning cloud, but she was too swift to catch, machete in one hand, necklace of shells in the other. Using the thunderous burst of wind sent by Appa when he slammed down his tail, she leapt upon the closest offending beast and wrapped the necklace about its slimy neck, steering it clear into the Wasp beside it. The stinger of the captured Wasp went straight through the heart of the other and stuck there, so that both beasts fell, writhing with astonishment and pain, to the earth. The incident caused swift mutiny amongst the Wasps; they were communal creatures, but the murder of one of their own _by _their own called for swift alliances. The resulting scuffle between Wasp clans gave Sokka enough time to hail Suki, freshly landed on the sand, to his aid.

"Suki! Cut off those reins, quick! Toph, tie him up, we'll lower him in –"

Wan Shi Tong was not a formidable enemy because of his strength, or his cunning, or his speed. There were far faster, more skilled fighters than the aged Owl trapped in the old Library beneath the Desert sands, far more adapt fighters than he. He was, after all, a spirit of Knowledge and not of War – he possessed no combat training or skill, apart from the bettered reactions of his spirit-state. There was nothing singularly special about him that made him dangerous – except, of course, that he knew.

He knew every art and craft and movement of every style and form of combat. He knew each individual form of bending, its forms and weaknesses, its histories and quirks. He knew how masters and amateurs and soldiers fought with every type of blade and arrow and device of war, and how to counter them. It was not that he was skilled – it was that he knew.

A child can beat a Master in Pai Sho, if he knows every move the Master is going to take.

And so Zuko was outmatched.

"The Northern Shaolin style? I was hoping for some Seven Star, at least!"

Zuko had performed the step perfectly, which was his downfall. The flames sailed into open space and Wan Shi Tong's beak tore a pulsing wound into his chest. Crying out in pain and surprise, the firebender ignited the air around him and sought out shelter, hoping to momentarily blind the Owl to his position.

Katara had only a limited water supply, from her canteen slung at her side. When she found Zuko, hiding for the moment beneath a stack of collapsed bookcases, she bent it immediately to her hands and began to patch the deep gash in his chest.

"I told you to stay in the room!" he roared at her, but even now he raised no hand to strike her, though flame flew briefly between his fingertips.

"I didn't save your life to have you throw it away now!" she yelled at him, and from somewhere far above she thought she heard a droning noise; but it was drowned out instantly, by the shattering explosion of the bookcase above them.

It happened so quick Katara never saw it, only the horrific portrait afterwards. There was dust, and screaming, and the flash of red flame; Zuko's hands were at her shoulders, shoving her away – and then there was the shattering of wood and the horrible _crunch _of breaking bone.

And then there was Zuko, lying wide-eyed beneath the ten-ton bookcase, back broken and bleeding.

"You! Where's my sister?" Sokka had left Aang with Toph, who was untying the rope from around him. Nearly everything between the Avatar's waist and knees was soaked in blood.

The Fox said nothing. Only bared it's teeth and leapt for the Prince's throat.


	26. Jin

Sorry my updates aren't as quick anymore, but I am trying :) I'm also trying to do some sketching for the story on the side... not working so well though.

By the way, Katara's surprisingly clever in dire situations.

* * *

It was almost sunset when Jet knocked on her door, unaware that his greatest friend was hundreds of miles away in the pit of some fabled Library, the life already dimming in his eyes.

He had not warned her he was coming. Then again, he had never expected to come back.

When she opened the door, the warm firelight from within her rusty apartment caught him off guard, and he blinked a few time before lowering his hooded face into shadow.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

She smelled of jasmine, and other multiple sets of herbs he knew she used in her world-famous teas. He had come to the back door, around the side of the tea-shop, because it was late and she had locked up the front. He could hear the dinner-rice boiling on her kitchen stove for her father and her; no doubt the sick old man was abed upstairs, fighting valiantly against whatever disease had afflicted him, aided by the selfless kindness of his only daughter. He paused, remembering how much he used to admire her.

But that was long before the Academy. Long before drinks at the bar and fights in the mud-and-blood streets. Long before honeyed lips and red blades.

"Sir?" she was uncertain now, and had retreated a step into the house. Jet swallowed, desperate that she not withdraw, and lifted his face to hers from the stoop. The light from inside lit along half of it – one empty, confused, pleading dark eye, beneath the black, unruly waves of his hair.

"…Jet?"

And she did exactly what he expected her to. She smiled, gloriously, innocently, wonderfully – and she ran to embrace him.

Jet wrapped his arms around her like he was in a dream. Her deep brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail – he remembered what a hassle she thought it when it was down, remembered how he longed to let it run free through his hands, liquid shadow. His arms went tight around her, pressing her weight against him, trying to tell her…tell her everything. He wanted the world to stop.

She made the movement away first, and reluctantly he loosed his hold on her. She did not entirely leave his reach, however, but stopped just where the lines met, just where he could still reach around and grab her, if he wanted to.

He did want to. He'd always wanted to. He'd just never been able to.

"Jet… I was so worried, all that talk about – about the fight, everyone was saying –"

"No. I'm fine," he bent his head, too ashamed in her presence to stand tall and rigid and proud, as he did with Azula. "I just…I needed to see you. I needed to ask you something."

"…Of course," her voice was like an angel's song. He wondered how he'd lived without it.

There were clouds coming in overhead, dark and brooding and ominous, as though the sky itself was lamenting Jet's fall from grace. The red sunset was dying down in the distance, and the coupled affect of the shadowed sky was casting an eerie gloom over all of _Balda Haram_, a forewarning for the struggle ahead.

"We never…" Jet hesitated, started to doubt – but then her hand was on his arm, and he was looking into her sweet, red-brown eyes, and it was taking his breathe away. "…I never…"

She seemed to draw closer to him, try to encourage him to speak. He looked up, ever so faintly, and realized he was dangerously near to her face – one movement and he could capture her lips, press her body to his, show her in one blind moment how much he cared.

But he didn't move, and she continued to gaze at him, sweetly, serenely.

"What is it, Jet?" she said it in a whisper. A cool, calm, enticing whisper.

"…I want you to leave _Balda Haram_," he said, finally – and though she looked at him like he was mad, or at least drunk, Jet didn't falter. "I want you to take your father and leave, as quickly as possible – tomorrow, if you can. Take this…you can buy a horse and cart, and some supplies, probably."

He took the packet of money from his pocket that Azula had given him, reminded briefly and painfully of the run-in with SmellerBee and Longshot, and placed it in her unsure hands. She regarded it swiftly, but her gaze was soon focused intently on him, though he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.

"Why? Why do you want us to leave?" she asked him, and he was captivated by the concern in her voice.

"Because I love you."

He saw the startled disbelief in her eyes, but found it to be less deep than he imagined. As if all along, she _had_ known – maybe. Just maybe.

"I haven't been good at showing it. I…I was never….worth you. I'm not a good person, and you were always…I mean, you always treated me well. You didn't want me to fight, and I didn't listen. But it's going to get real bad, real quick – and I don't want you to be here, when it does."

She seemed to take in his words for their full weight, gazing at him behind the red-brown curtain of her eyes, the veil of an innocent soul. He admired her for such innocence, really; he wished he could give her such purity in return, such total commitment. But he was too far gone for it now. Above all else, he knew this.

"…Where do you want us to go?" Jet loved how, even now, even after seeing him for the first time in two years, she believed and respected him. He knew he didn't deserve it – she had to know it too. But she still did, and it made him wild with adoration for her.

"At Masabi, in the East, they say there's tons of jobs," he tried to smile, but the act was too painful. "Go there…go there and start your own tea shop. You'll be brilliant."

He turned then to leave, knowing a goodbye would be too difficult to say, knowing he had to harden himself for the task at hand. Knowing he would never see her again.

"Jet!"

She ran out into the muddy street after him, getting grime all over the edges of her dress, eyes wide with fear. Jet was obedient to her words, and stood rooted to the spot, awaiting whatever she asked of him, whatever she wanted. He realized now that it was all he had ever hoped for – to please her, to do as she wished, to make her radiant and smiling and happy. And he never had. And the regret was heavier than any sin on his shoulders.

"You know what's going to happen…and I don't," she said slowly, quietly, beneath the looming darkness of the sky, the last red rays of sunlight. "But…you could come with us. You could come with me."

His heart reached for her. With an agonizing, spirit-breaking strength, his heart reached for her.

"Jin…"

She bit her lip in a sudden display of weakness, something he had never seen from her, and crossed her arms to hold herself. Tears formed suddenly at the corners of her eyes.

"Didn't you ever think…that maybe I loved you too?"

Jet stared at her, blank and terrified, until she swept over and slid her arms around his neck, kissing him goodbye.

He kissed her back, gentle and honest and spiritual, and so much greater than anything he shared with Azula. Her lips were soft against his, and they tasted like ginseng. He wrapped her up in his arms, close enough to bind their souls, feeling one of her tears slide against his cheek. He deepened the kiss, desperately, and Jin responded to him, blind and passionate and filled with grief.

The clouds opened up above them, and the rain began to fall.

* * *

Wan Shi Tong was as motionless as the shadows he commanded. The Foxes had fled from his sight to all hidden corners of the Library, howling in the face of the Owl's victory. 

The Fox who had sprung upon Sokka would have torn out his throat by now, if not for the cries of his Pack. Just before his daggered teeth sunk into the startled Prince's flesh, the howl echoed through the halls, loud and fierce and filled with anguish. The Fox flinched and retreated as if he had been struck, and then ran off to find his fellows.

After a brief re-group, the three followed the mirroring cries of an elated Wan Shi Tong, Sokka carrying Aang's dead weight in his arms, shirt soaking steadily with blood. Almost three pints now the airbender had lost, and there was only a fool's hope of recovery.

"Toph! Where are they? Can you find them?"

"Yeah – this way!"

Toph was already pounding down the hall, feeling the presence of her sister the same way she could feel the sifting whispers in the stone, the trembles of the brown earth. Driven

Sokka's arms were screaming faintly from the strain of bearing Aang, but he was flying after Toph so swiftly that the airbender may as well have been a feather. There was a determination in the Prince's gaze that could not be rivaled, not even by his blind sister, and he bore the Avatar without fault, leaving a splattered trail of blood through the halls.

Above, Suki and the Fox fought the Wasps behind the living fortress that was Appa. Xin Fu and Jun were not idle at this time; they dare not ride the Wasps themselves, as some clans of the Desert so chose, for they had poison skin and were unruly. They possessed, however, their own race of steeds; huge cats, like Jeong-Jeong's tiger-stallion, but splotched with black upon their golden coats. They were coming swift as death across the Desert, even as Suki and Myobu fought and howled and won against the legions of buzzard-Wasps, and Sokka bore Aang after Toph, racing against the cruel clock.

When Sokka finally his sister, however, he nearly dropped Aang, dumbstruck by the war-torn picture of room she kneeled in. The fight between Wan Shi Tong and Zuko could have been timed in seconds – and yet it seemed as though a hundred years of battle had been waged within it's walls, consumed with fire and blade, and the daggered beak of the Owl. Bookcases were rent and splintered and torn apart, black streaks of Zuko's red flame left glaring upon the damaged walls; embers were still glowing, soft orange, in the dirt and rubble beneath Wan Shi Tong's form – a massive, starving ghost above the two mortals that crouched below him. Katara was pulling Zuko from the teetering wreckage of bookcases and broken wood, as unveiled as her panic-ridden sister, face slashed with soot from the still-falling ash.

Sokka was about to cry out to her, shifting Aang's weight in his arms, when he saw the pale, ruined portrait of Zuko lying in her arms. She did not look up when her siblings came in the room, nor even seem to regard the menacing tower of Wan Shi Tong above her; she had pulled Zuko's head into her lap, whispering incoherently.

"God! Fuck –"

Sokka couldn't draw his blade to fight the Owl, not with Aang lying limp and bleeding in his arms – so he set the airbender down beside Toph, who held onto him as though she could give him life with her own touch. His head rolled back against her arm and his eyes flickered open – and in some strange form of dying ecstasy, he smiled up at her, bloody teeth and all, before fainting again.

"Katara, get over here, Aang needs help –"

Sokka's voice was lost on her. She held Zuko to her chest and rocked him gently.

"He is too close to the Void," Wan Shi Tong had retreated a few steps and was wrapped up like a huge, horrifying bat in his own shadow. His blank, white face was blinding within the gloom of the Library, unflinching even beneath the echoes of the defeated Foxes.

"Katara? Katara come here! Aang, he's – he's –" Toph couldn't say it. She clutched Aang to her, desperately, fearfully. Katara did not move, and the shadow of the Owl swept past her and gathered itself up above the Prince.

"Where is the water of the Spirit Oasis?" Wan Shi Tong was looming above him like a gargoyle, though his ferocity was somewhat lessened – as if he was trying, very hard, to keep his own mad temper. "Take it, quickly; it is the only thing that can save life from the doorstep of death."

Sokka stared at the Owl like he was speaking some foreign language, and the great Spirit huffed and shuddered his feather's angrily.

"Are you as dumb as you look, fool? Give the Spirit water to the waterbender and heal the Avatar!"

Sokka was about to shout something absurd and stupid at the Owl (and probably lose his life for it) when he remembered the insane woman in the jungle and the delicate blue vial she had shoved into his hands.

"That's it – the _isangoma_, she said – Katara, quick you have to heal Aang –"

He fumbled in blind panic through the pockets in his clothes until he found the vial, quiet and subtle and unbroken. As he undid the glass stopper in the top of the vial, a white mist escaped, hissing coolly beneath his hand. An aroma bled from it that resembled the scent of snowfall, of artic seas and ancient tribes, of furs and fires within huts of ice. He rushed to Katara's side to hand it to her, and found her muttering despairingly to the firebender's dying form.

"Why couldn't you have just _run_?" she whispered, Zuko's broken body lying limp in her arms, tears sliding like slivers of ice down her face. The golden color in his eyes was going dark. "Why do you have to try and save everyone?"

"Katara, come on, Aang needs your help –" Sokka knew that there was no hope for Zuko, and as a true man of Acchai he did not let it faze him. In the savage life of the war-lands, a soldier knew whom he could save and who must be lost, and the Prince could not lose the Avatar.

He shoved the vial into her hands and took her by the shoulder, pulling her roughly after him, expecting her to come numbly to his aid. He had no reason to believe his sister felt anything more for Zuko than she did for any other soldier of Jeong-Jeong's – so when she pulled away from him, abruptly and spitefully, he had to double-take.

"What about Zuko?" there were numb tears in her eyes. "We're just going to let him die? After all he did for us – after all that healing – he's just going to die like _this_?"

"Katara, we can't save him," Sokka tried to make her see it. This was life. This was death. The firebender was already past the curtain, already walking the lane to the spirit-realms, to be reborn in another life.

"No – no, there's a way, there is –"

"You have to save Aang right now. That's all that matters."

"It is_not_ all that matters!"

"You must save the Avatar," Wan Shi Tong said it in a hollow voice, and Katara whirled on him, infuriated.

"What do you care? You tried to kill him the first time we were here!"

"Roku has told him to beseech me. He cannot speak to do so."

"Go to hell!"

The Owl writhed, screeched again, all to deaf ears; Katara fell to her knees and clutched the Spirit Water to her chest, looking all the while between the two dying men beside her; the bloody, rent picture of the fallen Avatar, who shook from shock and blood loss; and the mute, broken form of the heir of Agni, mouth moving involuntarily, body crooked beyond repair.

"Tell the foolish waterbender to heal him!" Wan Shi Tong roared at Sokka, who ignored the Owl's comments at his sister only because he was so infuriated with her himself. He took her arm again, tightly, as she tried to crawl back to the firebender.

"Katara stop it! You need to do this, now!"

"There has to be a way –"

"Do you want Aang to die, Katara?"

"_No_, no – of course not –"

"Then forget about Zuko! The world needs the Avatar!"

She had fixed her eyes on a broken piece of the copper-lining on the bookcase. Sokka's requests fell on deaf ears. Her heart was full of Zuko's empty eyes.

The sun had finally set outside and the moon was glowing down on Suki and Myobu, full and streaming silver. Sokka made a move to pull Katara towards the Avatar, infuriated at his sister's actions.

"Katara you have to do it now!"

"_I won't let them die_!"

"_Katara_!"

What happened next took less than a minute.

Katara tore the jagged copper shard from the destroyed bookcase and swung her arms with all her might, slashing wildly at Sokka. His arm ripped open in a brilliant flash of red, but the blood did not fall to the floor; in one swift motion the crimson river was streaming from Sokka' arm and into Aang's wound, and all the bloodstains on the Avatar's shirt were vanishing. Still bending the blood back into his life-starved body, Katara took her canteen-water and closed every inch of the wound.

Sokka fell, holding his bleeding arm in abrupt pain, appalled at what his sister had just done. Aang's eyes burst open as if he was being reborn, and he inhaled hugely in Toph's arms, staring at the earthbender like she was an angel.

Katara was faint and weak from the unreal effort of bloodbending, but she still gripped the Spirit Water in her hand – and before anyone could reach her, she had fallen by Zuko's side and bent it onto his shattered back, brilliant and glowing and powerful beneath Wan Shi Tong's enraged shadow.

Life and health broke into Zuko and he gasped, hugely, as Aang had done, feeling his heart beat loudly in his chest. Katara let the water soak into his skin and then collapsed beside him, unconscious.

* * *

"You're quiet tonight." 

Azula was brushing her hair out with an ivory-backed comb, a gift from one of Zhanu's many sisters. They had not wanted to part with it, of course – but Azula had been so delightfully polite, and insistent, beneath the dangerous glow of her golden eyes, that they handed it over without question. No one crossed the heiress of Agni if they could avoid it.

Jet did not answer her. He was removing his dirty peasant-shirt, stained down the front with the crimson rivers he had drawn from the throat of Earl Lao. The assassination had not gone quite as smoothly as the dark warrior had planned, and the servants who found his body would probably be haunted by the brutality for the rest of their lives.

"It was quite messy, you know, when you did the Earl," said Azula, calmly, stroking out her long lengths of smooth, black hair. "Weren't you supposed to get a sharpening?"

"…Haven't gotten around to it yet."

Azula stroked one more time through her long locks, and then placed the ivory-backed comb on her dresser. The last few weeks had been a blur to Jet, she knew – but to her they had been clear as new day. She knew it each noble he had slain, by name, by reputation, by deed – each one in varying degrees of innocence or sin, all of them in line before her, blocking the path her father had so long tried to attain. Too old was he to manage the dream now, but his daughter was young and vigorous, and had a dangerously confused blood-seeking warrior in her hands.

"How is Jin, then?"

Jet froze, his shirt half-bundled in his hands, the tiger-hook swords gleaming dully before him, still blood-stained.

"What are you talking about?" he tried to keep his voice level. Emotionless. Cold.

"You can't fool me, Jet," she hissed, and there was murder in her words. "I knew her too, if only as a child. You forget that."

Jet's back was to her, and true to her form she did not flinch, nor show any sign of emotion, when he took up his hook-swords and whirled on her, swift and fluid and deadly.

Yet Azula was untouchable. Even from childhood, there was no one who could lay a mark upon her flawless figure; in instant, calculated grace she blocked his well-aimed blow with the stolen comb, shattering the ivory backing in a shower of white, and had her leg over the neck of the other, crushing its curved point into the floor. Jet raised his fist to strike her, heedless now of the codes of behavior against woman, knowing fully what a true devil she was – but she spun across him so easily it looked more a dance than a fight, and he went head-first into her dresser, sending several bottoms of perfume crashing to the floor.

"Are you quite finished?" she said, disapprovingly, as though Jet was a poorly-disciplined child. He leaned heavily on the dresser before turning to glare at her, awkwardly scented with the leaked perfume, still trembling from the swift defeat. Unable to speak for the wrath and helplessness pouring through him, he turned to face her, uncertain what action to take. She did not let him build up enough fury to resume the attack again, but approached him fearlessly, golden gaze like a sin-filled fire.

"Do you _want_ to see the King thrown down? Do you _want_ a better world?"

Her words were laced with poison. Every move she made was deceptive, was filled with hidden motive. Jet cringed, involuntarily, when she came close.

"You're my warrior, Jet," and she snaked her ivory arms up around his shoulders, so demonically smooth that he stiffened, disgusted, beneath the touch. Her lips rose to his chin, and the whisper came out worse than a snarl.

"…and I don't want to share you. Would you want to share me?"

Sparks flew between her fingers, just enough for Jet to feel the dangerous heat on the back of his neck. Just enough to remind him what she was capable of doing to him – capable of doing to Jin. The power and desires of a demon, wrapped in the illusion of a goddess.

"…Of course not," Jet said it firmly, but there was a self-loathing in his eyes

Azula pressed herself to him, smiling like a wolf. She had trapped him, long ago, and there was no escape this time.

"Prove it to me."

Jet glared at her, beyond hatred, beyond fear. With revolt in his eyes and bitter taste on his tongue, he bent his head to kiss her, loathingly, violently. She slid her hands up the back of his neck, and his skin crawled beneath her fingers.

* * *

"So, here's the deal – _stop _trying to die, alright?" 

Aang was leaning on Toph, grinning at the Prince, who's expression was, hilariously enough, dead serious. The Avatar laughed, only a short scar left from where the blade had torn him, and nudged a perfectly healthy Zuko to join him.

"Seriously, that was just…weird. And I swear to the Spirits, Katara, if you_ever_ do that bloodbending thing to me again –"

"I know," said Katara calmly, though she was ashamed of it herself, and managed to hide it only because of the makeshift torn clothe-niqab her brother had forced her to wear. "I'm sorry. I – I don't know what came over me. I saw Hama do it once, for one of Jeong-Jeong's soldiers. It usually doesn't work, but I thought…I don't know."

"You was fine, Katara," said Aang encouragingly. "Brilliant, really. Wish I could'a been up to see it, righ' true."

"No! It was creepy and wrong!" excalimed Sokka, gripping instinctively to the place on his arm where Katara had cut. She had healed it, of course, but the feeling of blood being _bended_ from his body – it wasn't something you got over in an instant.

They were loading up Appa with what supplies were left over in the Library, with Zuko and Sokka doing most of the grunt work, as Aang was still slightly dizzy and needed attention from Katara. The Foxes had completely vanished to the far corners of the Library, and Wan Shi Tong, raging and vengeful, and knowing they had used Zuko's life-debt to try and destroy him, had sped of to pursue them just as the Avatar was healed. Not a one of them ever saw a Fox, or Wan Shi Tong, ever again. It the glom of the Library, in the timeless expanse of the spirits imprisonment, it was quite possible that they simply erupted into battle and consumed each other.

The group, as it consisted now, had fearfully ignored the struggle between the Owl and the Runners, taking whatever leftover food and blankets and clothing the Foxes had left for Katara and boking it back to the Desert. Sokka had not even stopped to gather anymore scrolls, which later may have been his downfall; his knowledge of the past was greater now than before, but it was unconnected, and would not rival the knowledge he was to discover later.

"Not to break up the fun time, but I believe there's someone you haven't introduced us to," Toph pointed vaguely to her right, the re-considered and pointed more forwards. "Or…well, maybe I'm just going crazy, cause standing in this sand kind of messes up everything…"

"Oh! Suki , right –"

Before Sokka could explain, Suki and Myobu happened upon the scene, having driven the Wasps into a frenzied retreat, neither of them that worse for wear. Myobu was following loyally at the Kyoshi-Shaman's side, for in the nature of the beast, fighting alongside her had crafted a bond between them.

"Yeah, um –" Sokka hesitated, wondering how he was going to introduce the wild woman to his two sisters (whom he had forced to wear makeshift niqabs) all the while the Katara stared at her like she was standing stark naked. "This, uh – she's from the south, she's, um –"

" – it's Suki. Thanks for the introduction, Sokka," she smiled at the Prince, who looked at her, mouth agape, before giving back an apologetic grin. "Are you Sokka's sisters?"

"Uh – yes," Katara walked forth bravely to incline her head to the wild woman, who seemed a little confused at the act of respect. "Forgive me, we aren't used to seeing women without…the niqab."

Aang and Zuko both bowed afterward, which further seemed to bewilder Suki, who had probably never received such polite gestures in all her life. Awkwardly she tried to return them, before interrupted by a rather elated Toph.

"She's not wearing the niqab?" she cried, smile as wide as the ocean. "Oh man, Sokka can we –"

"No," Sokka's voice was dry and humorless.

"But this clothe is dirty, and –"

"I said no."

"But if she's not –"

"_Noooo_."

"Fine. Ass."

"For the last time, I am _not an ass_!"

"Uh – hey Suki! Who's the dog, then? B'long to ya'?" Aang tried to steer the conversation away from the sibling argument, keeping his arm wrapped around Toph's shoulder, both for support and to keep her from launching on her brother. Just as Suki opened her mouth to reply, the warm, flaming Voice of Inari reached the Avatar's ears.

_I am Myobu._

Aang jumped, startled, and Zuko's hands lit instantly to flame. The Fox remained unmoved, and Sokka reached instinctively to his sword-hilt, to detain the firebender from attacking.

"Wait! He's a friend. Don't attack."

"He's one of those Foxes," Zuko stated bluntly, and the crimson fire at his fist blared suddenly white. Still the Fox did not stir, only watched the firebender carefully, calmly, as Sokka tried to explain.

"No, it's alright, really, he – I don't know how to explain it, but he's – he's different –"

_The isangoma of the Witch-Blood freed me_.

Myobu's voice was as calm and clear as ever, and as the spirit continued to explain,

_In service to the Owl we were bound together as a Pack. There was no dissension. We thought and acted as one. It was the only way Wan Shi Tong was able to control us, and we could not harm the Owl as long as this power held sway. That is why they used you, in your life-debt, to try and destroy him. It was a weak attempt._

"So why aren't you like them?" Zuko asked it feeling oddly akin to the crimson Fox before him. Something in the spirit-fires of Myobu's being called vaguely to the fire in his own veins, as if the gods had crafted them, in fact, from the same bit of flame, the same fire of the unforgiving sun.

_The isangoma of the With-Blood freed me. She did it at first to torture me, but it was better in the end._

"What's an isangoma?" Toph asked it, but only Aang heard her, and tired as he was from the ordeal he simply said:

"Let's not go inta' it, Toph. If is important we'll know, I s'ppose."

Zuko relaxed slowly in the presence of the Fox, and Sokka – convinced, at least in part, that the two were not going to attack each other – began loading a weak Aang onto Appa's saddle. Appa licked the airbender (and the disgruntled Prince) affectionately before doing so, Momo sitting bright-eyed on the bison's head and chirping away.

"We can't all ride Appa, Sokka. He can't bear that much weight –" Toph was interrupted swiftly by Myobu.

_Someone may ride on me. At least until the mountains._

"You're coming?" Suki looked strangely at the Fox, who regarded her briefly.

_I have no desire to return to the Library. I have no desire to be of the Pack._

"I'd agree with you on that," Zuko attempted. The Fox's lips curled into what may have been the impression of a smile, and Suki put her hand affectionately on the Fox's collar.

"I'll ride you, Myobu. I've already got some experience, right?"

Myobu gave his dangerous, fanged grin again, and after a brief debate on Sokka's end (he didn't like the idea of Suki being all alone on the Desert earth, vulnerable to thieves and such – whereas Suki showed him her machete and asked if he really thought she was all that helpless, and then there was a big defensive argument about the skills of males and female warriors, which Sokka effectively lost in the end).

While that was all going on, Toph and Aang clambered aboard Appa with the help of Katara and Zuko, and just as the waterbender was about to pull herself up by Appa's thick, white fur, she felt the firebender's hand at her shoulder.

"Here. Let me help."

She gazed at him shyly, but put a hand on either of his shoulders, so he could lift her up into the saddle.

"Thank you, again," he whispered to her, as he placed his hands on her waist, getting a rush of excitement when she trembled at his touch.

"I couldn't let you die, Zuko," she said, softly. He lifted her up onto Appa's head as Sokka and Suki abruptly finished their argument.

"Still…I think I'm a little in your debt now," and he knew she smiled by the light in her eyes.

"Well…one day you'll pay me back, I hope."

When they were all situated in the saddle, the Prince fell back against the leather, exhausted and irritated because of the whirling, beautiful mad-woman on the Fox. Hoping to distract himself, he poised the most obvious question he could think of.

"So where we off to now?" he was looking pointedly at Aang and Toph, though his question was mostly directed at the Avatar. "I mean, I got us a half-naked woman and a giant canine. What'd you get?"

Aang shifted uncomfortably in his seat as eyes turned to him, expectantly. They all seemed to easily ignore Sokka's funny comment, actually. The Avatar bowed over, rubbing the back of his bald head nervously.

"Not gonna' like it all too much, I'm 'fraid…"


	27. Masabi

I'm sorry for the late update, my computer totally crashed and had to get it fixed. Apparently my hard drive exploded. Or committed suicide. they're still not really sure which.

Anyways, this is an _extra_ long chapter as per saying sorry. And thank you again, to all reviewers, for liking my AU so much. It totally twisted into something I never expected it too, but I guess it's alright. 

* * *

"This is the stupidest idea ever," Zuko said it without emotion, and Sokka hissed irritably.

"Shut up! It'll work."

"No, it is _not _going to work."

"Will you just _shut up_?"

They were a mile out from the wall of Masabi, and already they could hear the din of crowded streets and slums and brothels. Within the Empire of Long Feng, no city was greater than that of Masabi; but there was also no city fouler, no city rougher or wilder or sorrier. If _Balda Haram_ was the City of Villians, then Masabi was _Balda Ta'assuf_ – the City of Despair.

People flocked there from the edges of the East, crossing swamps and deserts and mountains, with the promise of safety and wealth and freedom. No lie had ever been so exaggerated in all the history of the East; Masabi was the sewers of the Empire, overcrowded and disease-ridden, the pit of human filth. The main lanes and streets were narrow with close rows of housing and a thousand rival market-carts, sometimes spanning only ten feet from either side, and every spare inch filled with people. Houses could no longer be built in Masabi, except to build up; for this reason, varying parts of the city were at different heights, and a five-story building could rest beside a two-story tea shop. The streets were worn and filthy, and rows of laundry and vegetables and dried meat hung between windows of single-room apartments, always at risk of being stolen by some starving thief. 

Families could consist of three to thirty in Masabi, but there was usually little variety in the size of the tiny apartments. For this reason people flocked to the streets, only to find themselves boxed in by a thousand struggling sales-carts. Everything anyone could want was sold in Masabi's streets, in different degrees of quality: baskets and buckets and farming tools, to horseshoes and spears and swords, to ivory sculptures and glass bulbs, flowers and hand-sown blankets and carpets and straw sandals. It was always a gamble to buy food, for nothing was promised fresh, no matter who sold it; meat could be half-rotted, eggs could be spoiled, vegetables withered and brown. Even the water pumped from the community wells was infected, and for this reason more citizens drank beer than pump-water. 

"Masabi is a death-trap, Sokka," Katara stated, unconsciously backing up Zuko and further annoying her brother. "Even if we do somehow manage to get to the Inner Gate, there's no _way_ –"

"Do you have a better idea?" Sokka snapped, furiously, at his sister. Katara opened her mouth to reply, but no words graced her lips, and soon everyone was forced to resign to the Prince's plan.

They landed Appa at the Outer Wall, where a lazy gateman (who probably lived in the pristine upper ring, away from the smell of the slums) let them in without much protest. People came to Masabi in droves nowdays, driven by hunger and disease, and rumors of war near the borders of Acchai.

Zuko was trained in city life, but in _Balda Haram_ he had never dreamed to encounter such a level of desperation. The streets were packed and loud and disorderly; people pressed in on every side, and several times thieves tried to pick-pocket them, though each time they failed. Drunk and starved and sick people lay in the gutters, ignored by those still in health, and Zuko saw Katara shake with grief at the sight. Sokka had told her, beforehand, not to heal anyone – she would only cause a scene, for in seconds a thousand diseased citizens would be clawing at her knees.

The gangs, of course, Zuko noticed at once. He knew how to recognize them. Young men with varying numbers of scars, or tattoos, or faded, colored clothing, hung around in disheveled groups, and despite the crowds everyone sought to avoid them. They seemed better-fed than most, fattened off stolen food, full of cruelty and cunning. The ones Zuko saw in the crowd had black tattoos of hawks and dragons, kept knives at their sides, and chewed raw opium.

Katara, Toph, and Suki had all been dressed as slaves. They were adorned in black with their heads down, completely ignored by all passerby. Sokka had rubbed dirt and grease into Myobu's coat (despite the Fox's protests) to give him a wild, beaten look, to match the other stray dogs in the streets. Pygmy puma packs snarled at him as he walked by, but ran terrified when he growled back. 

Aang had covered his head, hands and feet with stray clothe, so he looked more the beggar than anything. Sokka and Zuko had not changed their attire; Sokka used the Prince-markings and fur lining of his cloak to carve a path through the crowd, followed by his red-armor-clad soldier. Zuko had left his double swords with the caravan long ago, but with his vicious scar and golden eyes he looked no less intimidating. 

When they took the train, only Sokka and Zuko could ride in the car, and only one girl was allowed to accompany them. Aang, Suki, Toph and Myobu were confined to the end cart, where the slaves and Untouchables were kept with the cargo and the livestock. 

Appa was sent to stay in a communal stable at the very edge of Masabi, as it was the only place big enough to house him. Momo went with him, loyal to keep the great bison company during their isolation; they would be treated poorly and fed little during their time there, which would bode ill for the men responsible, inciting the Avatar's wrath.

Katara was beside Zuko, head bowed so low he could no even see the dim light of her eyes. Sokka stood, despite the pressing closeness of the crowded train, laden with people and boxes and chickens and sleeping drunks, babies crying and mothers cooing, pick-pocketers weaving their way amongst them all. It was ghastly inside, putrid with the smell of vomit and sweat and animals, foul writing on the walls and dark stains on the floor.

"Are you alright?" Zuko had to ask it stiffly, quietly, in case anyone was listening – a man should never speak to his slave, lest it was to give an order. But no one seemed to notice, and so she replied:

"I'll be fine."

He knew she lied by the waver in her voice, but knew better than to try and comfort her. Even a pat on the shoulder would be offensive, a soldier to a slave, and the most he could manage was: 

"It's going to work."

She said nothing for a long moment, as the train made a station-stop. Several people got off to enter the equally crowded streets, and about twice as many got back on. Katara's voice was low beneath the hundred conversations goings on around them.

"But what if it doesn't?"

"It will."

Zuko didn't even hesitate. He doubted in the plan, by nature, by precaution. But he said it anyway, and stuck to the conviction, despite the fact they both new it had little chance of working. 

"I won't let him take me."

Katara's words had barely left her lips when Sokka returned to them, sitting finally on an abandoned seat beside her. Zuko was unable to say it with him so close, and he wouldn't have said it anyway, impressed by her strength of will, her defiance despite her rough raising in Al-Abhad.

_Neither will I._

* * *

Jin left the city with her father the morning after Jet's visit. Jet saw her go from his hiding spot in a dark alleyway, her ill father asleep in the cart with their supplies as she led the ostrich-horse. Her face was veiled with a hood for protection of her feminine identity, but she was taking the safest route to Silk Road, and afterwards would probably join a refugee caravan to Masabi. Jet watched her exit the gate, and then fled towards the bar.

It was too early for anyone to be there, besides the occasional sleeping drunk in the corner – but SmellerBee's father owned the place, and she was already wiping down tables to prepare for the lunch rush. When she heard Jet walk through the door, she turned with a half-hearted smile, thinking someone had come for breakfast.

When she saw Jet, her face fell into a stormcloud. Fearful of the wrath to come, Jet took another bold step into the bar (the place he'd once been so familiar with) and said, lowly:

"I need to talk to Longshot, SmellerBee."

"Fuck that!" SmellerBee's reaction was instant and expected. "You fuckin' prick! I tried to talk to you, going on two weeks ago – and you snubbed me! Don't think I don't know about you and the cunt, neither! So here's the favor returned, pisshead!"

She threw a beer mug at his head, which he ducked easily – but he knew, as soon as SmellerBee got her hands on a knife, he'd be in for hell. Luckily Longshot appeared from the back at that moment, still disheveled from a late night, and put his hand firmly at SmellerBee's shoulder. She turned and glared at him, ruthlessly.

"Longshot, don't even think –"

He cut her off with a fierce, silencing look. She turned and sent one more angry glare at Jet, and then stormed off to the kitchen, where she took out her anger by loudly hacking an uncooked chicken to pieces.

Longshot stared at Jet for a long time. There was some sort of distant resemblance between them, despite Longshot's pale skin, and Jet's long hair; something in the shape of their nose, in the line of their jaw, that suggested some kindred thing.

"I'm in trouble, Longshot," Jet's black eyes were desperate. Trapped.

"I know," Longshot's black eyes were cool as ice.

"She met with an Advisor last week. The plan's already set. She's got half the Dai Li on her side. Not to mention what will happen with Acchai."

"Zhao was the Advisor?"

"No. Someone else. Zhao's just a pawn."

"So are you."

Jet bowed his head and shifted the grass stalk in his mouth. He'd never felt so humiliated in his life, never so used and angry; but beneath Longshot's unwavering gaze he was calm.

"I got to know who's side you'll be on. You and SmellerBee, and Vica, and the rest."

Longshot crossed his arms, but didn't answer. The sun rose fully and light poured in the half-shuddered windows; the drunk man in the corner of the room shifted, groaned, and then fell asleep again – and still Longshot did not speak. Jet's hands tapped against his sides, nervously, anticipating the worst, and dared to look up again.

"Longshot? I got to know."

"I don't speak what I don't know the answer too."

Jet's teeth ground as he chewed the grass. He had expected that answer, but it didn't hurt any less for it. Yet they were both warriors, and they were both trained in masking pain.

"Fair enough. See you soon, brother."

He held out his hand, and Longshot took it, slowly and regretfully. They remained there for a moment, hands clapped together, staring at one another through the tides and turns of fate that had separated them. 

"To fall seven times."

Longshot gripped Jet's hand, felt for the first time in a long time how much he still looked up to his big brother. Trapped and lost and desperate.

"To rise eight times."

Longshot released his hand, and Jet vanished out into the sunlight, swift and silent as a ghost.

* * *

There was a long line at the door of the Inner Gate, but it was still early and the droves of sick and poor citizens had not yet arrived. That, or they were lounging against the gate walls, playing liquins for coins or foodscraps, wrapped in bandages and blankets and sending out their children to steal from rich-looking strangers.

More than one child came pleading up to Sokka for a coin, but Sokka had no money, and even if he did he knew better than to give to them – they would berate him ceaselessly after that, and probably try to steal the whole purse.

The waited for the better part of an hour, during which time Katara and Toph had to quietly school Suki on the customs of Acchai and of the Empire, and why her bare-bodied attire would not have gone over well. Myobu stood beside Zuko, daring not to speak lest he upset the crowd, and Sokka stood straight and proud in the lead, trying the best to play his Princely part. It was only now Zuko finally realized that Sokka was a Prince through honor and war, not through eloquence or wealth.

The Inner Gate was to high and smooth to scale, and could be opened only by a large team of elite earthbenders. It rose straight and immeasurable and without mark into the blue sky, a sightless, powerful face of risen stone. There was more than one gateman for the Gate, as so many people sought to get through; a dozen or so slits were bended out of the wall, through which the gatemen peered, safe and secure, at those who wished to enter. Sokka approached the man as he should have; boldly, and with purpose.

"Who knocks at the Inner Gate?" it was routine to say to everyone, but nowadays the gatemen only said it to those who seemed of importance. It was a good sign for Sokka.

"Prince Sokka of the Aurora Tribe, and heir of Al-Abhad."

"And who rides with him?"

"A firebender beneath General Jeong-Jeong, an airbender likewise, and three woman-slaves from the market-sale."

Suki shifted uncomfortably at being referred to this way, but somehow remained silent.

"What is your purpose this day?"

"I come with news for the Emperor, concerning my father's debt."

"You may enter. But the airbender and your slaves must wash their feet before crossing the threshold."

"Of course."

"And you must give a gold-offer to ensure the airbender's protection within the walls of Masabi."

This caught Sokka off guard. Aang looked worriedly at the Prince, who stared, dumfounded, into the gateman's accusing eyes for a moment, until he somewhat regained his composure. 

"I – I have no gold-offer. All of my wealth was entrusted to the General."

"Then what _can _you offer?"

Zuko's heart beat loudly as he met Sokka's gaze. They knew they had nothing but the clothes on their backs – it would be custom to offer up one of their woman-slaves, actually, but neither of them knew this, and they would not dare to act on it anyway.

_Offer me_.

Myobu's voice was low and cold, to avoid notice. Sokka looked at him sideways.

"What?"

_I will escape back to you after the Avatar's safety is ensured. Do not worry. I have your scent._

Sokka hesitated, but Myobu took a step forward from Zuko's side, emphasizing his commitment.

"We…We offer this hound for the airbender's safety."

The gateman peered down at the Fox suspiciously.

"What manner of creature is this, you say?"

"A hunting hound. He was…a gift. An offer of peace from the thieves of Gihad."

Myobu hung his head beside the Prince, obediently, acting so much the loyal wolf as he could manage. He even seemed to dim his spirit essence a little, at least enough for the doorman not to notice.

"He looks a sorry state."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Myobu broke into a fearsome, offended snarl and bared his teeth, blinding and hideous, at the gateman. Despite the wall of solid rock between them, the gateman stumbled back, disappearing from his eye-slit for a moment. When he returned, his voice was trembling.

"I – I see. He seems a reasonable hound. Enter to your right, and do so quickly."

They followed the gateman's instructions, leaving Myobu with the gateman, Suki and Aang and the sisters all obliged to wash their feet and disappear quickly into the bended gap in the wall - all before the droves of peasants could break in after them.

The inner courts for the palace of Masabi could have spanned a mile in every direction. Whereas the city was overcrowded and noisy and miserable, filled with greys and browns and curling smoke, within the walls of the palace all was open and green. The upper ring, where the generals and nobility stayed, compromised the border closest to the wall, where the smell of the slums was strongest. The palace was separated from the upper ring by a great expanse of gardens and orchards and fountains, all delicately formed and looked-after, everything green as spring leaf. It was late, however, drawing near the end of summer, and how the grass and trees stayed so emerald was remarkable in every regard – but no so remarkable as the Palace at Masabi, four times in size to Al-Abhad, and a thousand times as stunning. 

Gold was a favorite of Long Feng, and so the precious metal glinted everywhere. From the framing on the doors to small statues in the halls, to tassles hung from the gate lanterns, everything was yellow as the sun, adorned as often with emeralds or rubies or pearl. The Rising Stair was the only way outsiders could enter to see the Emperor, and it began at the Forbidden Gate, crossed three time atop with full tusks of ivory and hung with chimes of silver.

A guard went forth to announce Sokka's coming to Masabi, leaving Katara to lead Toph to several chimes, which tinkled like falling crystal. Zuko stood guard over them, untrusting of the idle soldiers about the gate, and Aang kept close behind him. A necklace, carven with the air symbol, had been hung about his neck, as a token of his protection.

Suki, bowed stiffly to look old, and tired, and worn, shuffled over to Sokka, who was examining the gate disinterestedly. 

"You know, Sokka, I don't even know this Emperor – and I've got a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should turn back."

"It's too late now, Suki. And its going to work, damnit!"

"I never said it wasn't!"

"You_implied _it."

"Oh now you're just being a dick."

"I'm not a dick! And why doesn't anyone like my plan?

"Maybe because no one trusts the crazy homicidal Emperor this guy's supposed to be!" 

"You'd have me trust _you_ though, wouldn't you?"

"_What_? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sokka stared at her, dying to say the words "_I know you spilled innocent blood_". He didn't. 

"Don't - don't think I brought you this far because I trusted you. I did it to keep an eye on you."

"Ha! Which _part_ of me?"

He turned to glare, to open his mouth to respond, but the guard had come back through the doorway – and with him, in green and gold satin robes, beard and hair both braided expertly, was the still, iron form of the Emperor.

Long Feng was not simply a tyrant born with a title. He had earned his throne. Through blood and deceit and cunning, he had earned his throne.

Against all the rogue-lands of the far East he had waged his wars, and laid to waste the green grounds, and conquered peoples of ever creed and nation. Beneath his thumb he kept the remnants of every broken civilization from here to the sea, and had united them all beneath the green-and-crimson might of his banner. His treasuries were lined with stolen gold and his gallows were ever-swinging with traitors; the people of the Empire dwelled beneath his rule in fear and awe, unable to contend him because of the might of his army, and the ferocity of his will. His Empire reached, matched, and outdistanced the might of the Union, in size and strength and numbers – and had the impassable desert-lands of Acchai not divided them, the two great nations would have exploded into war long ago.

Long Feng was a man of singular purpose and will, a genius in the way of the world. Whether in women or soldiers or gold or war, he was particular and merciless, and nothing and no one escaped his trained notice. He was the cold fire of the East, the Golden Hawk, the All-Seeing Emperor of Masabi.

Behind him, to Zuko's astonishment and Sokka's relief, came General Jeong-Jeong. He looked far wearier now than he had during their time in the caravan, as though the trials of the Desert had stolen something from him. No one knew yet of the Fox's ominous request for his aid, nor that he had refused the cry when it ascended, high and defeated, after Zuko had fallen to Wan Shi Tong.

They all followed Sokka's lead, and bowed graciously, head down to the ground, before The Emperor. The Emperor's eyes passed once over Sokka, then Zuko, and then lingered over-long on Aang and the three girls. A light switched on in his eyes.

"Rise and follow, Prince Sokka," said Long Feng, and his voice was black and smooth as oil.

It was custom to wait a full moment before turning to follow the Emperor, so that his guard could fall in protectively behind him. In the seconds he had to spare, Sokka turned back to Suki and his sisters to mutter:

"You three stay here. We'll meet you later." 

The girls nodded silently and slunk against the far wall. Zuko tried to catch Katara's eye, out of pure desire to see her blue gaze once more than anything, but she was turned the other way.

"General Jeong-Jeong," Sokka inclined his head, briefly, to the General, who returned the gesture stiffly and without emotion. "It is good to know you made it to Masabi."

"And it is good to see you alive, Prince," the General's face was unreadable, even when he turned to Zuko, whom he must have assumed dead.

"General," it was safe to say that Zuko had several ill feelings towards Jeong-Jeong at this point.

The General accompanied them as the followed into an inner chamber, led all the while by the Emperor. Aang was staying close behind Zuko, and for good reason; archers lined the top of every wall, faces streaked with red, the Emperors own personal guard. They were all watching him with practiced malice, waiting for the moment he strayed from the warrior's side, when the promise of protection no longer applied.

"Do well to stay close, airbender," Long Feng called over his shoulder as the archers glared down at him venomously. "The YuYan archers are not fond of your class, and they do not often miss."

Aang swallowed, and Zuko felt a rush of fury at the Emperor. Like the nobles, the Earls, the Advisors in the Union, like Fong at Al-Abhad – here they were just as cruel, just as judgmental and blind, and it stirred up a wrath inside him to know such men were allowed to exist in the world.

Just as they passed two fierce-looking, scar-riddled guards, and into the Emperor's meeting-court, a soldier to Aang's left lowered his spear and cut the Avatar off from his fellows. His voice was full of mirth and cruelty.

"You are not allowed past the door."

When Zuko heard the words, he made a move to turn back, to confront the guard alongside Aang – but Sokka, quicker than sight, took his arm so tightly that Zuko whirled back to follow him. Before he could shake the Prince's grip, Sokka hissed sideways to him:

"Keep walking or we're all dead."

The YuYan archers were fingering the feathers on their arrows when Aang, seeing Sokka and Zuko walk away without him, implored to the guard:  
"Wha'? Why not me? They's goin' –"

"If you do not remain in this courtyard, under our supervision, we are in right to arrest you. Your protection still holds, as long as you do this."

"But – but they – but I'm –"

"Will you comply, airbender?"

Aang realized, suddenly, that during his months of friendships with Zuko, and given the single incident at Al-Abhad with Lord Fong, he had forgotten how much the common man, and the rich man, despised him. He slunk back into the courtyard, face dark and brooding with the cruelt

"Yeah…'course…"

Zuko ripped his arm away from Sokka's grip and growled, spitefully, at the Prince's annoyingly calm form.

"Why can't Aang come?" Sokka replied, coldly and instantly:

"He's an airbender, Zuko."

Zuko's wrath grew to an unbearable pitch, and he felt all but ready to hate the very core of mankind. Still he tried to debate Sokka, and suggested, quietly:

"But if we say he's the Ava –"

"No!" Sokka's voice was sharp, but still low, though he was glaring at Zuko. "You keep that to your fucking self, alright? And don't mention anything about being the heir of Agni either, if you know what's best for you."

The Emperor stepped onto his pedestal at the far side of the court, and sat in his outer-throne, adorned with emeralds and topaz. His first wife was already seated beside him, a good deal younger than him but still older, by far, than the wives sent by Lord Fong. Her hair, though faded with age, was still a stunning gold that distracted 

She was the oldest and most valued of Long Feng's women, and for this she was treated stricter than all others. She was poised and motionless beside the Emperor, there only as an eye trophy he might gaze upon. But there was passion and fire and intelligence in her eyes, and the Long Feng's disinterest in this would betray him in the end.

They bowed at the waist before the Emperor, Zuko following it all blindly, and Sokka began without delay.

"Grandest Emperor of the Eastern States, the Golden Hawk of the Sunrise, the Ascent to Heaven," Sokka began, as Jeong-Jeong had taught him beforehand (though the General seemed of little help or friendship at this point). "I have come to officially settle the debt upon my father's household. In order to repay the legion of soldiers, lent by you in the wars of Tao Lin and Esfahan, and lost to enemy sword, we sent an order of 150 virgins to your palace."

It was custom, now, for the Emperor to acknowledge Sokka – Prince of the Aurora Tribe, bastard-son of Fong and single heir of Al-Abhad, Captain-class beneath General Jeong-Jeong – but he did not. It may also have been custom for the Emperor to point out that only 131 brides had arrived to him, seventeen lost in the bandit raid, and two missing in the Desert. But instead he said, softly and conversationally:

"Do you know the history of Masabi, Prince?"

The Emperor was surpassing the necessary introduction, and Sokka knew something was wrong. Zuko remained bowed beside the Prince, unaware of the looming danger, though he knew this was an odd sort of question to ask.

"I do not, Lord Emperor," Sokka said it haltingly, and Zuko chanced a glance at him, worried. There was sweat on the Prince's forehead.

"It was once called Ba Sing Se," the Emperor's eyes were so intense that Zuko could see, from the corner of his eye, Sokka's hands clenched to keep from trembling. "And long ago, nearly five hundred years, it was ruled by a man named Kuei."

None of them knew where this was going, but Zuko had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and already he was trying to calculate all possible ways of escape. Yet everywhere the YuYan archers waited with their deadly arrows, inescapable at any angle.

"He was a weak thing of a man, overthrown by one of his own agents, I believe," mused the Emperor, eyes still fastened on the Prince. "That agent, however, was strong enough to conquer all the lands surrounding his Kingdom. But then again, you _did_ know this already didn't you?"

Sokka breathed deeply and prayed this wasn't going where he thought it was going.

"No, Lord Emperor. Why would I?"

"Because you read it in the Library scrolls," hissed the Emperor instantly – and then the sword from his side was drawn, and he was storming down the steps towards the Prince's bowed form, swift as lightning and twice as deadly. Sokka stumbled at his approaching form but made no move to retreat.

"I don't – I don't know –"

"You stole two wives from me!" hissed Long Feng, and now there was real fury in the Emperor's voice, so that he stepped down at level with Sokka, who tensed and prepared for the worst. "You think wrapping them in peasant clothes would fool me? Seventeen I lost to bandits, and over a hundred lie waiting in my haram; but only those two was I promised with full grace, only those two did I seek. The blue rose and the diamond, spited by their father, and so much more worthy for it. And you thought I would not _notice_?"

"I don't understand –"

"You found the Library. The scrolls are in your pack now. You sought not only to steal my wives – you sought for secrets, secrets in the past, of Masabi, of Ba Sing Se. Admit it!"

"I swear I did not –"

"_Liar_!"

The cold edge of the Emperor's blade flashed in the sun, and then Sokka was on his knee, tan throat pressed against white metal, and Zuko had cried out and leapt forward, halted only by Jeong-Jeong's trained, lightning-fast hand, and the command of Long Feng.

"Don't move!"

Zuko normally would have sprung upon the man, regardless of his skill, or his title. But the YuYan archers were drawing back their strings, fingers gliding across the blood-red feathers of their arrows, and Jeong-Jeong had his arm. He froze, unaware that even now red flame wrapped his fingers, and saved only by Sokka blurting:

"It was an accident! It was an accident we found the Library!"

"Liar!" Long Feng repeated, and suddenly Zuko realized why the Emperor was so good at keeping his Empire in line – it was because the man was an absolutely paranoid, wretch of a thing.

"Lies! Your father sent you to find secrets to overthrow me!"

"No!" begged Sokka, not daring to move, adam's apple pressed against the white steel. "It was an accident. We brought the scrolls as further dowry, to replace the lost brides –" 

It was really genius, what Sokka was coming up with, but Long Feng wasn't buying any of it.

"Deceitful whelp! Why then would you hide my rightful wives from me? Next you will tell me you cannot give me your sisters, because you _accidently_stumbled upon another husband for them!"

Sokka looked dazed and fearfully at the Long Feng, and a light went off in Zuko's head. A blind, stupid, idotic, worst-idea-ever sort of light.

"Yes – they are! They are already married!"

The Emperor must have been too riled up to notice Zuko had spoken out of turn, for her simply glared, grinning horrible, at the firebender.

"To whom? Their darling brother? I was not aware Acchai was such a perverted whorehouse." 

"You fu –"

"No!" Zuko had never thrived well under pressure, but with Katara and Toph's freedom at stake, he seemed to improvise beautifully. Sokka was looking at him through one wide, blue eye like he was insane. "To – to me. They're married to me."

The General turned and glared at Zuko, and silence fell over the meeting-court. From her make-shift throne, The Emperor's first wife laid her chin in her hand and smiled amused at the subtle twists of this little play.

"What?" there was blatant suspicion in the Emperor's voice.

"_What_?" Sokka looked at him like he had just turned into a wild hog-monkey.

"We – we were married after separating from the caravan," Zuko inventing, having no idea if what he was saying would make sense according to their laws and customs, but he tried anyways. "A guru wed us on the road to Masabi. It was – it was safer for married women to walk the road than promised ones."

"Where are their rings, then?" Long Feng spat, and this time Zuko was lost for words, and stood dumbly until Sokka – catching on, at last, to the plan – leapt beside the firebender.

"We – um – we don't use rings, in Acchai. That – that is a custom of the East."

"Then is what your mark for marriage?"

Now Long Feng was irritated, but at least he was buying in. Sokka looked at him, soundlessly, unable to think up a viable answer to his question – but Zuko knew one, instantly.

"…The niqab."

Sokka stared at him again, but he was aware enough that whatever Sokka was doing, it was buying them time, and Long Feng's attention, and that was worth something.

"The niqab is the mark of marriage, Lord Emperor," Zuko elaborated, desperately.

"All women of Acchai wear the niqab," stated the Emperor, but he seemed to believe their ruse, if only slightly. Sokka managed a half-hearted grin (which looked oddly unreal on his panic-ridden face) and replied, haltingly:

"No, no, that's – that's a common misunderstanding. Easy mistake –"

"Then why did all my brides-to-be come adorned with niqabs?" snarled Long Feng, pointedly, at the Prince. "Did you try to send me a hundred and fifty already _married_ wives?"

And then, to everyone's astonishment, General Jeong-Jeong stepped forward, fierce and towering and mighty, and equal to the paranoid strength of the Emperor.

"Emperor Long Feng, they were to marry you. Lord Fong knew the customs were different at Masabi, and so he sent them already covered."

The words from Jeong-Jeong's mouth seemed to have far more potency on Long Feng than anything Sokka or Zuko said. Both men looked at the General incredulously, blindly confused as to why he had supported them, when he so blatantly knew it was a lie. The Emperor, however, seemed oddly annoyed by his mistake, and waved the Prince away as quickly as he had fallen upon him for conspiracy.

"Very well, very well…Prince, you are dismissed. One of my soldiers will take you to a suitable quarter. General, and you – firebender – come."

Sokka waited for a moment, before realizing Zuko was not to follow; then he turned, hesitantly, to follow an archer from the meeting-court. Zuko watched him go apprehensively, and then approached the Emperor alongside the General, taking the opportunity to get the first word in.

"What would you desire of me, Emperor?" he asked, as humbly as he could. The Emperor eyes him suspiciously.

"The blue rose and the diamond – they are truly your wives?"

"…Yes, my Lord. Truly."

"Then you will take me to them, and punish them for their offense to me."

Zuko blinked, and then dared to look up at the Emperor, who was staring off across the courtyard lazily. His wife had risen from her throne, watchful of the firebender, but ready to return inside.

"…Excuse me, sir?"

"Really, soldier. They were endowed to me, but married you. It is an offense. Usually it would warrant a sound beating, but due to the circumstances, I will give you leave for a single strike, if you wish."

It took Zuko a moment to understand what the Emperor suggested, but even then he refused to believe it, sickened by the mere thought, the brutality of it.

"…With all due respect, I will not strike them, Emperor."

"If you do not, then I will carry out the punishment myself," Long Feng said it swiftly and decisively. "Think on it for a moment while I see my wife off."

He turned to escort his first wife down from the dais, and Zuko swallowed, keenly aware of how easy it would be to simply leap upon the Emperor's turned back, draw his white blade from his own sheath, and send it screaming into his unprotected back, again and again, all before the archers could loose the first arrow –

"Go and do it."

Jeong-Jeong did not look at Zuko when he said it, and Zuko replied, seethingly:

"I won't hit her – them –"

"Better you give them a smack than they fall to the mercy of the Emperor!" Jeong-Jeong snarled, and there was white fire in his eyes. "There is a _reason_ the Princesses fear Long Feng, Zuko. He is not above drawing blood from a woman's skin!"

The statement angered and sickened Zuko to a degree he did not think possible. The Emperor's first wife had departed into her quarters and Long Feng was retuning to them with a cruel, delighted smile. 

"For their sake, Zuko of Agni," it almost sounded like the General was begging. 

Zuko had never felt so much like killing someone.

Nor like killing himself.


	28. War Mungering

"Lady Katara and Lady Toph."

The sisters jumped from their spot, sitting on a courtyard bench beside Suki, and involuntarily the ground shook beneath Toph's feet. To their mercy, the guard did not notice - only gestured with his arm towards a near hall, a signal - a command - for them to follow. The guard's face was hidden behind his iron helm, and so Katara could not guess towards what purpose he was separating them from Suki, and how he knew their names.

"I'm...sorry, Sa'," said Toph suddenly, desperately trying to adopt Aang's accent, and doing a fairly good job on it. "But we's no ladies, nah. Jus' been bought, is all."

"There is no need to pretend any longer. Follow me, now."

There was no room for negotiation in his voice, and the YuYan archers on the wall were grinning down at the pair with lust in their eyes. So though Suki tried to take Katara by the shoulder, other hand reaching for her hidden machete or fan-blade, Katara shrugged the Kyoshi-Shaman away. A fear had gripped Katara, but she knew better than to act out, especially with grinning soldier of the Emperor glaring down at them. Suki beseeched her with her eyes, but Katara answered her fears with silence, and a cerulean gaze that said only: Stay hidden. Wait for Sokka.

Suki relaxed slowly, watching them go in growing fury, and preparing a severe tongue-lashing for the Prince.

The guard led them down a series of halls, so swiftly and purposefully that Katara soon lost track of their direction. This did not, however, bother her much; Toph, with her incredible earthbending sight, was probably searching the layout of the palace as they walked, testing the limits of the walls and their chances of escape. Yet even now Katara knew it was impossible; a thousand walls and leagues of archers and guards separated them from the upper ring, from the Inner Gate, from the miles of decrepit city slums teeming with filth and crime and desperation. Had they escaped even all of this, there would be no safety for them in Acchai nor the territories of the East, and the Union was a but dream on the edge of the sister's thought.

The guard led them into a small side-room adjoining a dining hall, most likely for discretion, where a servant-girl was stacking the Emperor's precious china dishes. She jumped a little when they entered, swathed in a dark green sari and niqab, as was custom for the servants of the Emperor to wear. Her eyes were a sparkling pink-silver that, had Katara been looking up, she would have recognized at once. As it was, her eyes either remained or Toph or the floor, lost in panic.

"You will await the Emperor here. Slave, stay and attend to their needs."

The guard turned on his heel and left, briskly, as blinded in his orders as every other servant of the Emperor. But as soon as he was gone, and the door swung closed, the servant-girl leapt to her feet and tackled Katara in a joyous and well-deserved hug.

"Katara! Toph! You safe!" it took Katara half a second to recognize the woman's voice.

"_Song_? Toph, it's -"

"I know! Song, you made it - !"

Toph ran and hugged Song from the other side, so that all three women were wrapped suddenly in a massive embrace - and pressed there in Song's arms Katara suddenl realized the full weight of their circumstances, and broke down.

They had fought and fled across the whole of Acchai, and yet here they were, trapped in Long Feng's palace, doomed to the same fate they had sought to escape when the caravan left Al-Abhad. A hundred things flashed through Katara's mind: her Prince-brother, dead now for all she knew, killed for defying the Emperor - her little sister, as enslaved as she and all the more favorable for her younger age - and then a half-scarred face, handing her the niqab, giving her respect when all the world denied her any. Tracing the line of her lip beneath the moon, hands against his chest as he struggled to remain chaste, tortured with the thought her dark, salty skin.

"Oh, Song..." she sobbed in her hands, collapsing to her knees beneath their worried words, humiliated and despairing at the loss of it all.

"Please, no cry, Katara," Song said gently, and even Toph's, who's eyes were rimmed and wet as well, had her arms around her sister's shoulders in an attempt at comfort. "It will be good. Emperor not get you. I know."

"What are you talking about, Song?" Katara tried desperately to wipe away the tears, rubbing her palms against her cheeks until the clothe of the niqab was wet, and her cheeks were rosy. For some reason Song was smiling and holding the waterbender's hand earnestly.

"I knew you come. This, for you," she fiddled briefly with the folds of her sari, searching desperately for something of apparent importance. Her efforts distracted Katara enough to stem her sobbing, and Song withdrew the trinket with a spark of triumph and delight in her eyes.

It was a necklace. The pendant hung on a thick blue strap, made from the fur of some animal Katara could not name. It was carved to resemble curling waves crashing along a nonexistent shore, captivating in it simplicity, and the lucid blue coloring of the flat, azure gem. Katara looked at like she peered from the depths of a dream; something in her reflection on the blue stone reminded her of a long-forgotten thing, stubby baby fingers grasping towards a mother, a curved pink smile hidden beneath a niqab. Eyes like the sparkling surface of the sea.

"It's beautiful, Song," said Katara, entranced with the intricately carven stone. "Where did you get it?"

Katara reached out to take the necklace, Song's smile wide and white beneath the niqab, eyes like twin stars.

"From you father."

**_Break_**

"So - how's the plan going, genius?"

"God, woman!" Sokka was already infuriated at Zuk's impulsive act and the fact that his plan had so beautifully backfired before it even got rolling, so Suki's annoyed, tense green stare was not making matters any better. "I need to think."

"About what?" Suki breathed, trying still to look somewhat humble for the guards posted in the courtyard. "They just led your sisters away with a word, did you know that? They're taking them to Long Feng, right now!"

"No, they're not," Sokka answered instantly, blindly pleased that at least _that_ wasn't true. "We...Zuko...oh god, that fucking firebender!"

"What? What happened?"

"Zuko told the Emperor Katara and Toph were _his_ wives," Sokka paced, lowering his voice so the guards wouldn't hear. "The General sided with us, so I think it worked..."

Suki looked at him like he'd just said he'd joined a traveling circus and he was going to be the lion-tamer.

"You _what_?"

"I know it was a stupid idea, alright?" snarled Sokka, but lowered his voice immediately when a guard looked, perplexed, in their direction. He was getting furious at the Kyoshi-Shaman, longing to call her out on her own sins, longing to make her _admit_ -

"No, no, stupid is sticking your hand in a jar full of bees - stupid is walking in here with that original, make-shift plan of yours. This is just lunacy! He's never going to _believe_ -"

"Shut up, slave!" Sokka roared, slamming her suddenly into the wall. Suki glared at him in surprise and contempt, but he hardly allowed her a breathe again before he whispered: "They're watching us. And you're in no position to give me shit."

"Why, because I'm a slave?" said Suki mockingly, swatting his arm away and retreating out of the nearest guards sight - but in an instant Sokka had her, and this time she quailed beneath him, confronted by the burning warrior flame in his eyes, the fury of the Aurora Tribe Prince.

"No. Because you're a murderer," he hissed it, and Suki stopped dead.

"What are you talking about?" she tried to seem angry, confused. But he could see the truth behind her eyes.

"Who was it?" snapped Sokka, and then he was pressing her into the shade beneath a courtyard overhang, out of earshot of the immobile guards and the deadly YuYan archers. She looked at him wildly, backing up to the palace wall to escape his fury, but he had her wrists in his hands and her huge green eyes were staring up at him, fearfully, beneath the poorly-wrapped black clothe of the niqab.

"What?" she whispered, and in blind fury he pinned her against the wall, stronger and fiercer than her vain struggling.

"Who was it? Who did you kill? I know you did. An innocent. Who was it?"

He loomed over her like death himself, forcing her to pour out her sins before heaven's light, and she shuddered. A long time passed where she seemed to try and make up a lie, or somehow turn the argument back to him, but she failed miserably beneath his unwavering gaze.

"Why?" Suki finally breathed, and there was a glistening, restricted moisture behind her eyes that suddenly made Sokka feel like a cheap, cruel specimen of a man. "Why do you want to know?"

She was infuriating him. She was strong, and defiant, and fierce, and it infuriated him. But in some distant way he could see the woman behind the green eyes, veiled with years of striving in the jungle-swamp, a tortured and beautiful sort of soul.

"Because I still want to believe your on my side," he whispered.

Her eyes were wide and captivating, and he had a mad, inexplicable desire to kiss her. Little did he know how fierce and handsome she thought him in the afternoon light.

"...I'm on your side, Sokka," she said, and his mouth went dry.

"Then just _tell _me. Please," he begged, and she looked up at him, wrists slightly ringed-red beneath his tight grip, green eyes bright and shining, even in the dim light of the shade. Her words were so low he barely caught them.

"...I was four. I didn't know any better."

"...What?"

There was a long silence, where Suki stared at him so wide-eyed and vulnerable that his heart moved in a strange direction, and his grip loosened on her wrists, and his body came about a half-inch closer to hers. Suki's hands slid down into his palms, just enough so that he was grasping her fingers, and she was standing weakly between him and the wall. It was the first time he had ever seen her behave so weakly, and as a man of Acchai it sparked a lustful fire in him - but as the Aurora Tribe Prince, it sparked pity and regret, and he made no move in either direction.

"She said it was the only way to bring the Avatar back," Suki whispered, finally.

Sokka froze and stared at her, unable to comprehend, unable to form anything except for the poor airbender's name.

"Aang?"

It was at that moment, in fate's blind display of irony, that the airbender was led into the courtyard. Sokka released Suki when he saw Aang enter, but before he could say anything to his friend, Suki had grabbed his arm again.

"Please...don't tell him."

Sokka stared at her for so long, Aang had reached them by the time he was able to somewhat gather his thoughts together, though not nearly enough to think anything except: _Fuck_.

"So... wha' all happen'd, Sokka?" Aang asked, and Sokka was suddenly aware of how good-hearted the kid really was. "Tried ta' start up a talk wit' some guards, ya' know. They didna' take to me too much, tho'..."

Sokka stared at the airbender, and then turned back to the Kyoshi-Shaman. He realized the truth with angry regret.

"...This _was_ a bad idea, wasn't it?"

**_Break_**

A guard led Zuko silently to the same quarters where Katara and Toph had been led. Long Feng was speechless and emotionless, as was General Jeong-Jeong, who accompanied them on the basis he had to ensure they were truly Fong's daughters. But despite the General's unaccountable support of him and Sokka's impromptu plan, Zuko possessed no trust for him, and was determined to salvage the situation himself.

Unknowingly and involuntarily, he found himself wondering what Azula would do. His sister had always had a knack for slipping out of trouble and tight spots, whether within the family or with strangers. She was absurdly good at talking someone into whatever she wanted them to believe, whether it was true or not; she used lies and cunning and deceit to do this, and more than often it was to the doom of the deceived, but there was a strange elegance in he deception that Zuko struggled to emulate now. How would she go about twisting the Emperor's perspective, without him knowing? How would she convince him of the opposite position without having him _aware_ she was convincing him?

Katara was staring at Song in silence and disbelief when the Emperor's guard opened the door. Zuko was still drawing blanks on how to save the two women, without resorting to Jeong-Jeong's violent plan - but the Emperor's iron gaze was making thinking difficult. The three women leapt to their feet when the men entered, bowing their heads obediently, though Katara fumbled, glancing at Zuko before doing so.

"Ladies Katara and Toph," General Jeong-Jeong was the one who spoke. The Emperor stood by quietly, expectantly. "You have offended the Emperor."

Katara' heart stopped, and then beat loudly in her chest, so that Toph could hear it beneath her own fear.

"Get this done with, firebender," said Long Feng, and there was desire in his voice. "I have other things that need attending to."

Zuko hesitated, took a step forward, tried all the while to seem impassive. A moment passed, and Katara looked up at him, eyes deeper than the caverns beneath the Eastern sea, innocent as the white-clothed moon. He remembered the sweet line of her face beneath the light of a thousand falling stars, the careful curve of her lip. A lost goddess.

He knew immediately why the Emperor found them so precious, and wondered why the Lord Fong had loved their sisters above them. Wondered how anyone could not find them priceless, unequaled.

And then Zuko found his inspiration.

"My Lord..." he retreated a step, closer to the Emperor's side "Before I do this thing, may I make a... beneficial observation?"

"What do you mean?" said the Emperor swiftly, impatiently. There was a gleam in his eye that suggested delight in the idea of Zuko slapping these women, and it made the firebender sick and furious. But he remained calm, despite the pleading eyes of Katara, fixed on the scarred side of his face.

"My Emperor...I have been wed to these women only a few weeks, and already I can tell you this: there are the most spoiled, unpleasant little things I have ever had the misfortune to come across."

His words struck everyone at unawares. Toph opened her mouth, but said nothing. A shot of pain went through Katara's heart. Long Feng only glared, suspiciously.

"Where is this going?"

"I want you to know, my Lord Emperor, that a tavern whore is more a joy to be around than these ladies. They are atrocities, and their beauty as false as their smiles. I am sure you have seen it from their sisters already - the three other daughters of Fong? Unpleasant and selfish and _disrespectful _as all hell."

Katara breathed out and lowered her eyes to the floor. Long Feng looked across the two women and pondered for a moment.

"They do earn themselves a strike rather often," he relented, and Zuko sprung at the opportunity.

"Exactly, my Lord Emperor. Yet they learn nothing from the blow, do they?"

"So you're need is to suggest something more... extravagant?"

Zuko knew by the waver of desire in Long Feng's voice that the Emperor was thinking of something far crueler than the firebender had anticipated. A hundred thoughts raced through his head, a hundred things that he could say or suggest, and not a one of the would have changed the satanic gleam in Long Feng's eye. Zuko tried to read him the same way Azula would have - rich and powerful and cruel, with time and intelligence enough to devise great punishments and tortures for those who opposed him, with a black enough soul to enjoy them. Only a man of his ruthless nature could have so efficiently conquered the East, could so keep his subjects fearful beneath his gaze. The All-Seeing Emperor.

"Not in the way of...the usual punishment, my Lord," Zuko tried, slipping more easily, more comfortably into the lie, and wondering if this was how Azula felt every time she opened her mouth. "The Lord Fong, he himself beat them since they were small, and yet such things have left no impression on them. They cannot be swayed with blows - at least, not in the way you desire, Emperor."

"What punishment would you suggest, then?" said Long Feng, and there was a cruel twist in his smile. Zuko had judged him rightly. He delighted in poetic tortures, in ironic twists of fate. Zuko had played the table well. Turning quiet, as though to keep his pretend wives in suspense, and seem eager to dispense his judgment, he came close to the Emperor and muttered:

"I say you put them in the servant's ranks. Make them scrub dishes and wash the gutters for a time. Treat them as the slaves they are disguised as. This humiliation will do more damage to them than any whip or fist."

Katara and Toph had listened to the conversation up to this point, quietly confused, and now Katara's eyes were aflame, cheeks hot as coals. Zuko's words were knives in her skin, and blinded by her rage and bewilderment she clenched her sister's hand, seething at the firebender for his betrayal. It could not truly be said what hurt her more; that Zuko seemed to be siding with the Emperor, or that he - the man she had admired, respected - had compared her so unfavorably to her sisters, regarded her as a selfish wretch. She felt used and disgusted, and realized then why women always said not to fall for soldiers.

Long Feng studied Zuko for a long time, the paranoid edge gleaming out, leftover from his years of war and turmoil. Zuko breathed slowly and kept his eyes fixed on the Emperor, remembering the foreboding comments of Azula: _liars won't look you in the face. Liars won't answer your questions right away. Liars are always looking towards the door, looking for escape. _

All liars had tells. All liars except Azula. Zuko never thought he would want so badly to be like his sister, if only briefly.

"You there."

The Emperor must have missed the lie, the slight shiver in Zuko's golden gaze. He snapped his fingers at Song, who straightened immediately, though did not dare raise her eyes to met the Emperor's gaze. That was unfitting, against all code of social and royal law. She kept her eyes pinned desperately to the floor.

"Take these women with you to the servant's quarters. Give them a set of scrub-clothes and all the tasks of your lowest scullery maid. They must have the worst of everything - food, bed, clothing, everything. This is their punishment. In two days you will return them to an open suite in the upper floors, and return to them what possessions they had left behind with the caravan. Can you do this thing?"

"Yes, my Lord Emperor," Zuko smiled inwardly. The All-Seeing Emperor had missed something.

"Then go and do it!"

Song took Katara and Toph at once be either hand and sped from the room, bowing humbly to the Emperor. But not before Katara's horrible, hurt, infuriated gaze fell upon him, confused and wrathful at his words, at his cruelty - and suddenly all the pride and confidence died in Zuko, torn open by her piercing, blinding blue gaze.

"Why two days, My Emperor?" it was General Jeong-Jeong who asked, and beneath his stern countenance there was some deeper, veiled reason for his interest. Zuko was still watching Katara as she exited, body emptied of emotion.

"In two days I have my wedding feast, General," it was good Zuko looked back at that moment, expressionless, else Long Feng may have suspected something. "Despite their offense, I would still enjoy their attendance. If they are still not humbled by that time, firebender, then my hand _will_ be forced upon them."

"...Of course, my Emperor," Zuko forced out.

"Good. Now if you will excuse me, I have a hanging to attend. Some old traitor from Yei Li, the barking swine. General, see the firebender to his quarters, and then see to the Prince Sokka."

And then the Golden Hawk of the Sunrise swept gracefully from the room, eyes aflame and craving the execution. Zuko hardly noticed his departure until he was alone in the room with Jeong-Jeong, who glared at the firebender with unfamiliar rage. Zuko noticed it only after some time, distracted with the painful, accusing glare Katara had sent his way, realizing he'd probably be in for an extensive explanation later.

"Turns out there was a way around it, aye General?" the heir of Agni muttered, as if trying to remind both the General and himself that he had saved the girls from a worse fate. The General's gaze was smoldering.

"You were lucky. Do not ever try it again," he snarled, and the firebender felt a wave of frustration consume him.

"Why do you even care?" he spat, but then Jeong-Jeong's flaming eyes were on him, hostile and terrifying, and even now the firebender retreated within himself at the sight.

"Many things have changed, Zuko of Agni. I am glad you did not die on the Rope Walk."

"Well that is a comfort," Zuko noted, sarcastically. The General's gaze was unchanging.

"I do not ask for your forgiveness. Even if I spared your life, my soldiers would not have seen fit to let you live - and there would be mutiny against me. The Rope Walk was the only way I could show you mercy."

"The Rope Walk was torture -"

"- But you lived. And because of it I will be hunted by the Runners for the rest of my life. I did not heed the call when the cried defeat from Wan Shi Tong. I did not come to aid them - and so you were saved a second time."

He turned to the door, gesturing for the firebender to follow only with a shrug of his shoulder. Zuko did not notice at this time, but the General had gone towards a side door, which led to the out-courtyards and not where the Emperor had exited; there was other purpose in Jeong-Jeong's soul that was now to the benefit of the heir of Agni.

"How do you know all of this?" Zuko asked. The General looked at him through ferocious, golden-red eyes.

"Come with me. My Lord wishes to meet you."

**_Break_**

When Emperor Long Feng entered his private study later on, fresh smile on his lips from the execution of the eighty-year-old man, the woman in the blood-red cape was waiting, immobile in the shadows beside the door. Her whip was tucked away discreetly at her side, pale face shrouded by the lengths of her midnight hair, and though Long Feng did not see her at once, he could felt her presence on the edges of his thought, and in a second a pinnacle of daggered rock had torn up beneath his feet and he was poised towards her shadowed form.

"As an Emperor, you know how to regard friend from foe," her voice was like poison, and the Emperor released his hold on the rock, infuriated.

"I asked you to meet me at nightfall! Satanic wretch," he would have slapped her, but he was still unaware what she was capable of, and he did not want to disturb a force beyond his reckoning. The woman had arrived at Masabi on the back of a vulture-wasp a day or so before the arrival of the Prince; she was from the _Aravinda_, the Devil's Eye, and he had little knowledge of her dark arts.

"You have been deceived," there was a cruel smile on her lips that suggested she and Azula would have made fantastic friends.

"If you speak of the Prince, then I do not care. I will have the General slaughter him in his sleep if it comes to that."

"The General has changed his motives," said Jun instantly. "You cannot trust him."

"How do you know?" Long Feng crossed the room to pour himself some sake. He felt he deserved a drink, having to cohort with this low, dirty witch from beneath the mountains. Grand Emperor of the East, talking to this snake in the blood-red cape.

"He leaves by the side-gates every night and meets with a man in the slums. He calls him Lord, and tells him the daily happenings of your palace."

"And how can you help me?"

"You want to wage war with the Union," she said this slowly, as if savoring every syllable. She had not moved from her spot beside the door, had not stirred at all since the Emperor entered. "I saw it written in your face the moment I entered the gate."

"And?" Long Feng drained the sake in the cup without even a flinch, and then poured himself another glass. Finally, Jun stepped out of the shadow, one empty eye glaring longingly at the Emperor.

"Give us the airbender beneath the Prince, and we can bring all war-clans, all the thieves of Gihad, all the bloodbenders of the Desert ranks to your aid. Already we have infiltrated the Union and made high names for our people in the law. We would be valuable to you."

"It is not difficult to infiltrate the Union," Long Feng replied, smugly.

"You have done it too, then?" only one side of her mouth curved into a smile, the other half hidden by her hair. Two teeth gleamed, fangs of hell's beasts, beneath the the pink line of her lip.

"In deeper ways than your people could dream. I would not need your spies in the Union. But what you promise me, of the thieves of Gihad, and the others - how can you pull hundreds of warring clans into one cause - and beneath my banner, no less?"

"Like Acchai, the bandit clans are ever-fighting," Jun mused, and moved just enough so the head of the red, tattooed serpent on her neck glimmered in the light. "But the people of the Devil's Eye - we are the Face-Stealers. We are the Children of Koh. We hold the bandits to our will with bonds as ancient as the earth, and in fear for their souls, they will obey us."

Long Feng contemplated the woman's offer for only a moment. In his brisk, calculating, paranoid way he weighed the options in his mind, and decided that he could kill the woman as soon as the bandits and thieves were indebted to his banner.

"Very well."

She allowed herself a cunning smile, and then swept like a ghost to the window, to descend to the far wall and the slums of the streets. For the fleeting second she was at the windowsill, she was a gargoyle of ancient evils, dyed crimson red with blood.

"Why do you want the airbender?" the Emperor's words stopped her only for a moment. The cup of sake was motionless at his lips, and the wheels in his mind were turning.

"It is for reasons that would not concern a great Emperor, such as yourself," she said, smoothly, and disappeared into the afternoon light.

**_Break_**

Zuko followed the General out of pure curiosity and nothing else. Had he not such little trust for the man, he would be back in the palace already at Katara's door, struggling to explain himself - that, or seeking out Aang, who (for all he knew) was still sitting dejectedly in one of the courtyards.

The General led him back to the Inner Gate, though this time it was a side-way usable only by the palace guard. They entered the filthy, overcrowded streets of the Masabi slums with only faint discomfort on Zuko's part. General Jeong-Jeong, with his massive mole-bear cloak and stunning sword and leather armor, attracted so much attention that beggar woman latched them, running behind the air in droves. Several of them seemed to know the General by name, and when they came to his arm he slipped them a gold coin so slyly that no one in the pressing crowd even noticed.

Down a hundred twisting streets the General seemed to lead him, until at last he turned into the doorway of a fish-seller's, brushing by the owner without a word. The owner himself, preoccupied with a customer, completely ignored them both as the mounted the stairs into the upper levels of the building, which made Zuko slightly nervous. Two flights they climbed, before Jeong-Jeong elbowed his way into the smallest doorway Zuko had ever seen, practically pulling in the firebender after him.

When they were both in sign, Jeong-Jeong chained the door shut, and Zuko found himself face-to-face with a new figure. He was sitting wearily in a rickety chair, and Myobu was sitting obediently at his knee.

He was wearing a huge, fur-cloak of a faded blue color, but it was dusted and spotted with a thousand nameless stains, much as many warriors of Acchai. But there was a darkness in his skin, and a lingering coldness in the air around him that suggested he was of a different make than Acchai. He looked younger than Jeong-Jeong by a number of years, black hair mangled and dreadlocked and hanging down loosely on either side of his head, chin marred with a neglected beard. There were strings of blue beads and claws around his neck, and his armor was embedded in the middle with a single white gem, carven with the symbol of waves, crashing against a nonexistent shore. There was a lost sense of purpose in his tired frame that betrayed some old pain - as if long ago, his spirit had been broken, and never fully repaired. When he spoke, his accent was thick, but not Eastern or of the barbarian tongue, and Zuko could not place it.

"This hound is a loyal friend," was all he said, and it unnerved Zuko. Myobu, however, was silent as the grave, content to have the dreadlocked man rub his fingers behind his ears.

"Who are you, and how did you come upon him?" it was the first question that came to Zuko's mind. The man stood slowly, looking up at him with tired, ringed eyes, as if he had been awake too long; and Zuko stared incredulously a the familiar, brilliant blue coloring of them.

"He came to me because he knows my son. I am Chief Hakoda, and it is an honor to be in the presence of the Crown Prince."


	29. Hakoda and the Woman Scorned

Sorry for the lack of updating, but the next few chapter will be tres fun!

Hints:

Suki/Sokka action, totally. And some more Zutara. And fighting. And Aang being Aang...teehee.

**_Break_**

Song led the two sisters straight to her own quarters, subtly defying the Emperor's wishes, if only for the moment. As soon as they entered the room, Song was moving towards her washing-bowl to give them a good scrub-down before they changed into the palace slave-clothes; she was detained, however, when Katara's dark-skinned foot slammed against the ground, almost as fierce as when Toph earthbended, and began to rant in loud, disruptive tones.

"That bastard, that liar, that - that _traitor_!"

Katara threw her arms around violently, and all the water in Song's washing-bowl jumped, prickled, froze, cracked; Song grabbed for the bowl instinctively, somewhat used to the girl's temper-tantrums, having grown up alongside her at Al-Abhad - only this time Katara was unaware of her own bending strength, blinded and infuriated at the firebender.

"I can't _believe _-" Katara fumed, but even now she dare not recognize _why_, exactly, she was so angry at Zuko. She dare not breathe a word of anything that had happened between them in the depths of the Library, beneath the glow of a thousand falling stars - and in fact, nothing _had_ happened, so why did it matter? Why did she care so fiercely that he had said a tavern whore was better than her? Why did it hurt so badly to think all he had said of her in the Desert...his musings on her beauty, his respect for her...was an act? Had he played her for a fool, simply lonely in the absence of his precious, perfect Mai?

She cursed inwardly. Let him have his wretched Mai. Let them both go to hell.

"Katara, I'm sure Zuko had a reason for -"

"What reason?" Katara spun, wrathfully, on Toph. The blind girl remained annoyed, but calm, in the face of her sister's fury. "You heard him, Toph! He was acting great friends with the Emperor, wasn't he? Having great fun, punishing us for his Lordship's pleasure!"

"I _did_ hear him, Katara," said Toph, raising her voice to overpower her sister, and stamping her foot decisively. "_You're_ the one who wasn't. He said he _married_ us. Did you miss that?"

"And that's good?" roared Katara, but she was losing her edge now, and there were tears in her eyes again. She knew Toph was going to break down her argument and it made her invent wild notions in her head. "Now he can do whatever the hell he wants to us! How do we know he wasn't - he wasn't planning it all, from the start -"

"You're being completely ridiculous, Katara!" screamed Toph, and several servants in one of the adjoining rooms had come to the doorway to listen in on the heated conversation. "That's not what's going on, and if you'd calm down enough you'd see that!"

"What's going on then, Toph? Why don't you tell me, since you can _see_ it so _clearly._"

Toph opened her mouth to reply, but she realized the veiled insult with a sudden rush of shame, and her lips snapped shut again. As soon as the words left her mouth Katara felt regret knock her across her angry skull, and the fire died inside of her. Toph turned away without a sound, Song angrily ushering the

"Toph try to say - Zuko save, from Emperor," Song said, stopping Katara before she could begin her apology. "He say, you his wife, so Emperor not take you."

Katara was no longer as concerned with the firebender's motives. Toph's back was too her, and even now she could tell the girl was holding back tears, trying to ignore her sister's cruel reminder of her disability.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Toph. I didn't mean it." Katara tried, weakly.

"It's fine. You were angry," and though the blind girl's voice was steady, it was not convincing. Katara took a step towards her, but Toph avoided her by walking over to Song's bed and sitting down, crossing her arms protectively and keeping her blind gaze to the floor. Katara hesitated, then whirled defiantly in the other direction, crossing her arms likewise, and trying to remind herself that it was _Zuko_ she was truly enraged with.

"It still doesn't explain why - why he said all of those things," she muttered swiftly.

"He is in pressure, Katara. He panic, maybe -"

But Song's words fell an deaf ears, and before either girl could remount an attack on the waterbender, the doorway slid open a bit, revealing the young, confused face of Teo, the camel-leader from the caravan ride.

He had survived the bandit attack and made it to Masabi, where he was serving the new wives and Emperor just as Song was. He was a stable-boy now, as his bad leg and limp had made him more a nuisance in other tasks, and the most he did now was carry water for the ostrich-horses. Yet he looked on Song with a deep recognition, the other servants gathered desperately outside the door, highly interested in the feud taking place within the room.

"Song? What's going on? There's a right crowd outside the door, here."

"Teo!" Song took the camel-driver's hands in her own, in a way that suggested some intimate thing had already passed between them. "Teo, please, find us _Sahadev_."

_**Break**_

Zuko looked at the wild, dreadlocked man silently, stupidly. Everything in the world suddenly muted, like he had plunged into the icy depths of the sea.

"What the hell did you just say?" he managed, and though Jeong-Jeong shot him a reproving look, the Chief didn't seem offended.

"I said, I am honored to meet you at last, Crown Prince, heir of Agni, and that I am Chief Hakoda."

"Hakoda?" Zuko said the name distantly, shaking his head, feeling like he had strayed into someone else's dream. "...Katara..."

He saw her eyes before him, endlessly blue and serene, like the gaze of some lost angel. Deep blue, twisted with rage and pain, and the violent ache in his chest.

"She is my daughter," Hakoda allowed, looking strangely at the firebender. "You know her?"

"No - well, yes, but no, you're -" and then the strength of fire in his veins bloomed to life, and he mounted his attack. "But you're supposed to be _dead_. You were killed, by -"

"By the General who stands beside you, yes," there was a breaking earnest in the Chief's voice, his emotion raw and real and worn on his sleeve, unlike the iron frame of Jeong-Jeong. "I see my daughter has told you of me. Is she well? Is she safe?"

"She is...safe," Zuko hesitated, remembering the cold, hurt fury in her eyes as she passed him. "I'm sorry. I think I'll need an explanation, Chief."

"I am alive, and that is all the explanation you need for now," said the Chief, swiftly and more confidently. He gestured to the General and Jeong-Jeong took Zuko firmly by the arm, drawing him unwillingly to the other side of the room, beside the seated Hakoda. A table was standing behind him, just as old and worn as the chair in which the Chief sat, but covered with a thousand different things: papers and maps, in languages and characters Zuko had never seen before; strange instruments for charting and sailing and navigating, along with more than one empty rum-bottle and a half-eaten bowl of cabbage soup. Whatever state the Chief lived in back home in the Aurora Tribes, the state in which he lived now was less comfortable than many a slave. His mattress in the corner, which Zuko could see by the light of the small window, was rotted through and browning, and the whole apartment was thick with the stench of fish, sweat and mud. The sound of the crowded slums roared up through the window and disrupted their talk more than ocne, during the course of the afternoon; Hakoda's only other clothes were hanging out of the window, drying beneath the red sun.

Myobu rose from beside Hakoda and seemed, for a moment, to come to Zuko's aid; but just as the firebender met the spirit-Fox's eyes, he slunk over to the corner, curled into a comfortable little ball, and went directly to sleep.

"Is the Emperor trying to secure my daughter?" Hakoda's question was directed more towards Jeong-Jeong than Zuko.

"At this moment the Emperor is under the assumption that she is married to Zuko," said the General swiftly, and for some reason his eyes were fixed suspiciously and unpleasantly, on the firebender. Zuko found out why a moment later.

"Good. You will keep up this pretense - but you will not lay so much as a hand upon my daughter, heir of Agni," said Hakoda fiercely, and for the first time there was power and threat in his voice, enough to send a chill down Zuko's spine. The light in Hakoda's eye suggested that, though he had possessed no contact with his daughter for most of her life, he still knew his fatherly duty.

Zuko nodded, compliantly, remembering how Sokka and Jeong-Jeong and Katara had spoken of this man; they had all done so with unlimited reverence and respect, but Zuko was finding it hard to regard this man as such. His state of being was so ragged and dirty and ill-kept that he looked more the part of a drunk beggar than a great warlord, but beyond this he was wondering how the Chief spoke to him so personally, as though somewhere they had met before.

"Do you know me?" he asked, before sitting slowly in the decrepit chair across from the Chief. Jeong-Jeong did not sit (there were no other chairs anyway, but the General still would have stood bodyguard) but placed himself beside Hakoda, arms crossed and savage eyes on Zuko, who remembered crushingly how easily this man had snapped his arm.

"You are the heir of Agni," said Hakoda slowly, shifting a few papers on his desk absentmindedly. "You are here to unite Acchai."

"Excuse me?"

"It is not something I expect you to accept right now," said Hakoda, and Zuko saw that he was bundling up most of the papers into a thick stack, directly before the firebender's eyes. "But there are certain things you must know. You are descended from a long line of royalty, Zuko - a line that has been sought, for a long time, by the Chiefs of the Aurora Tribes, and Generals of Acchai, like Jeong-Jeong."

"What the fu -"

Jeong-Jeong's hand slapped Zuko in the back of his head so hard that Zuko saw stars, and had half a mind to whirl and send a flaming fist into the General's face. The iron, emotionless tone of the General, however, kept him seated.

"Wait until the Chief is finished," he snarled. Hakoda looked worriedly at the General, and then turned back to Zuko.

"Forgive the General," he said lowly, but respectfully. "He is a complicated man. When he first learned of you as the heir of Agni, he knew he could not betray the hope in your arrival to anyone - you, or the Avatar. He had to treat you the same as any other man."

Zuko wanted to open his mouth to say something harsh and rash to the General and the Chief, but the collected hostility in Jeong-Jeong's eyes, coupled against the pleading look in Hakoda's, was too bewildering and infuriating to act upon. He slumped into the chair uncomfortably, just wishing to get back to Katara, so that he could explain all to her.

"What do you to say, then?" he said, when Hakoda did not continue right away. The Chief, however, had greater knowledge for the firebender than Zuko ever could have imagined, grown in the streets of _Balda Haram_, and thrust into the wilds of Acchai and the Empire.

"Sokka must have told you some of this, but I will start as easily as I can. A little over five hundred years ago, the first Emperor of Masabi - Long Feng he was called, just as his great ancestor - had newly conquered the Fire Nation, and most of the world was under his command. But there were Rebels who fought him, followers of your ancestor, and other friends of the Avatar. Their hope, in those days, was to find the reincarnated Avatar within my people, the Water Tribes, and raise him to defeat the Emperor. But more than fifteen years passed, and no Avatar was ever found. The Rebels disintegrated, either losing faith in the Avatar or falling to the Emperor's sword."

Zuko thought suddenly of Aang, the innocent, huge-hearted kid, the despairing words he had uttered in the Desert.

_All I wan'ed was ta' be normal, normal as I could be, y'know? Everythin' was fine! Everythin' was damn fine! I didn' know a no Avatar, I didn' care! I didn't wan' it! They put it on me, but I nev'r wan'ed it!_

"It was in the last days of the Rebels that Long Feng, in both greed and wisdom, realized he could not control all the expanse of the world on his own. Had he tried to do so, a rebellion would have inevitably formed. So in strange stroke of brilliance, he formed the Union.

This distracted Zuko from his thoughts on Aang, and Hakoda, brushing dirt off his coat irritably, continued without missing a beat.

"He left it under the command of a dim-witted man who constantly reported to him, of course; but the people believed this was an act of grace on his part, giving them their own government and land. Swiftly, Long Feng erased the people's memory of the Avatar,of the four Nations, of even the war itself; histories were re-written, lies told in schools. Only the territory you now know as Acchai withstood both the Emperor and the Union, but Acchai is a land rent with war, and Long Feng never considered it much of a threat..."

"How can that possibly be true?" Zuko almost interrupted, but luckily the Chief had trailed off. The firebender was staring Hakoda straight in the eyes, fearlessly. "Such a thing as war...it would be impossible to erase men's memory of it, no matter what the government did. It has only been five hundred years!"

"Men easily forget what does not stare them in the face every day," said Hakoda sourly. "But you are right, it would have been very difficult. And that is why Long Feng took these precautions: he made earth kingdom citizens the elite, already loyal to him, which made all others blasphemers and mixed bloods. Airbenders especially were hated, for their connection with the last Avatar. Then he instated the Academies."

All his days in Academy classrooms came rushing back to Zuko in one sweeping wave: The Chosen King had always been; before the instatement of the Union the world was overrun with barbarians and thieves; the Union was the only source of wisdom and justice in the world. Hail to the Chosen King, who led the first citizens from their dark ignorance, and into the light of truth.

Zuko felt his stomach churn as he thought of the King's pledge. From ignorance to truth. The depth of the lie scorched him to the soul.

"To tell a history made of lies," Zuko remembered the crazed, but honest look in Jet's eyes as he kept the tiger-hook sword at his chest. The truth about Acchai, about everything. "So...so why do you come forth now?"

"The Union is on the brink of civil war," Hakoda stated, and at his words Zuko went cold with sweat. "In a few days, though no one is yet aware, it will erupt. Many Advisors, as well as the Dai Li and earthbending agents, have been led to mutiny against the Chosen King. The leader of the rebellion is still unknown - but our allies of the Crescent Isle have joined them, despite my warnings. They will attack swiftly and without mercy, and the Union will be thrown into chaos."

"_Chikusho_..." Zuko said the curse very quietly, not knowing if Jeong-Jeong would smack him in the back of the head again.

"It gets worse , Agni," and there was an ill-amused smile on the Chief's lips. "The Emperor has helped see to this war. He has agents in the Union, a network not unlike my own. He is collecting all of his forces to mount an attack when the Union - divided, and warring - is at its weakest. By the end of the summer - three months, is when Jeong-Jeong has estimated - he will be ready to completely overcome the Union. All the world will once again be enslaved to the terror of Long Feng, and this is time it may be irreversible."

"And why are you telling me this?" Zuko asked, wildly. "Why not your son? Why not the Prince?"

Hakoda opened his mouth, but stopped short. A sad, distant look came into his eyes and he swallowed hard. Myobu stirred in his spot in the corner, opened on eye to look at the Chief, but did not rise or move otherwise.

"I...I cannot, yet," he said, returning to his stack of papers, drawing a cord from his pocket to tie them with. Bewildered and overwhelmed, Zuko rose, but was cut off when Hakoda said: "It is not important. You are the only one who can unite the war-lands. Acchai can look to you."

"Why me?" Zuko spat, and found himself dangerously aware of how terrifying the idea sounded. "Why do you - why do you keep saying I must unite Acchai?"

"It is in your blood, just as it is in the Avatar's blood to bring peace. if you want to aid him, you must unite Acchai. It will be the only way to combat the forces of the Emperor, especially if the Union falls, or refuses support to us."

"And what if I refuse to do as you say?" Zuko snarled abruptly. Hakoda glared at him for a long time, ragged from somewhat lost in the dim light of the room. Someone in the alleyway screeched, cursed after a thief who had stolen something from market.

Preparations for a world war. Time running out. The familiar, repetitive irony of Father Time.

"Iroh said you were defiant," Hakoda mused, finally tying up the bundle of papers, oblivious to the sudden look of shock and disbelief on Zuko's face.

"You...you know my Uncle?"

"This is the last time Jeong-Jeong will be able to come to me, so you must deliver this knowledge to my son," Hakoda ignored him, pointedly. "In two days, once the wedding feast of the Emperor has ended, you, my son, my daughters, and the General, will meet me on the Eastern Edge of Masabi, near the Docks. Will we part ways there in three directions: my children and the Avatar will take a boat to the Northern Tribe, and you will decide whether or not to take up your task, and be the first man to ever bring the war-lands under one banner."

He shoved the scrolls into Zuko's hands, bowing briefly to the heir of Agni, though Zuko looked at him like at any moment he'd whip out a bundle of water-squirting flowers and say "_just kidding!_". He was not allowed, however, another word of protest or question; Jeong-Jeong had taken his arm again and dragged him out the door, fierce and exact in his orders and his deliverance of them, eyes unreadable, motives unclear.

Neither Hakoda, Jeong-Jeong, nor Zuko had noticed, all the while, the woman in the blood-red cape leaning precariously out of the window above his, dark shadowed hair hanging down across her ghostly pale face.

As Jeong-Jeong stormed through the fish-seller's and swept out the door before him, Zuko couldn't help but mutter, the scrolls and maps and papers bundled to his chest:

"This is fucking insane."

_Life often is. It is usually you humans who make it that way, however._

"...Smartass."

Zuko couldn't tell in the faded light, but he thought he saw the Fox's lips curl up into a fanged smile.

**_Break_**

Zuko did not go straight to Sokka. In his wild, infatuated mind, he had more urgent things to attend to.

He found Song while wandering around the dining hall, hungry but unable to eat until he'd sought out the offended waterbender. She directed him to the kitchens, where Katara was making sweet-soup for the Emperor's tables, until she was sent to scrub floors with an equally disgruntled Toph.

He saw her before she saw him. A stray light from her pot of soup was shining across her features, illuminating her from the other servants bustling and working around her. Even wearing the ragged maid's clothes, she seemed soft and delicate and gorgeous in the light. He noticed, suddenly, that she was wearing a carven blue gemstone at her throat. It looked perfect around the soft, dark-skinned color of her neck.

But she saw him like a bull seeing red. The fury entered her eyes before Zuko could blink.

"Katara - "

"Get out!" she cut him off, her voice high and piercing and wild, the fury of a woman scorned.

"Wait, please -"

He was cut off, again, by a plate flying headlong at his head. He dodged it, barely, and it shattered against the wall, showering him in tiny white shards. Katara had already grabbed for another pot, but decided instead to bend a great amount of the sweet soup to her hands, as if to scald him with his dinner.

"Let me explain!" Zuko shouted, and servants peered in from the doorways as Katara kept the soup close to her hands.

"I know - I know why you did it - to save us," snapped Katara, unwillingly, refusing to release the feminine hurt. "But - but that doesn't excuse what you said about me. About - about my sister and I, I mean - and it doesn't mean you can punish us! So just - just get out!"

"But I never wanted -"

"_Get out!_"

The scalding soup cracked suddenly into what would have been a delicious icicle, and then embedded itself into the doorway beside Zuko's head. Zuko ducked, cast one desperate, defeated, enraged look at the waterbender, and then stormed furiously out of the kitchens.

Katara shook as he left, ignoring the stares and whispers of all the other servants, never daring to look from the door. She remained this way for awhile, as though in some strange, wrathful, hopeful way, she still wanted him to return and explain.

But Zuko had tramped off, mistreated, to find her brother, unaware of her desire.

When she finally returned to the soup, her eyes were full of tears.


	30. Persuasion

I'm sorry the updates are so late, I've actually had to write these last few on the internet in the Fanfic documents section. BLeaaargh.

To answer a question posed by EndlessBlack, and in realization that I totally forgot to note this when the story first began, the Avatar characters in this story are slightly older than in the original show. Zuko, Jet and Sokka are roughly the same age, late teens (18-21) and Katara, Suki, Mai, and Azula are 17. Aang and Toph are still relatively young, around 14/15. Iroh and Zhao and Ozai are all slightly older too.

Also FYI: Toph, Sokka, and Katara are blood-siblings, through their mother. Longshot and Jet are blood-brothers. Suki, Meng, and Sneers are siblings, but Suki has another brother not yet introduced to the story.

(So..there's not gonna be any Tokka. Which is sad because I like Tokka. Oh well...)

(And Tee-Hee. I had another version of this chapter posted for about ten minutes. But then I posted the real one. The nots fluffy one. Mwhahaha!)

**_Break_**

It was raining again, a hard, driving, penetrating rain, and the streets of _Balda Haram_ were slick with mud. Several houses were flooded out and their owners were taking pitiful refuge in the slimy streets, children clutching around their mothers knees, soaked to the bone until the husband came back with news of lodgings for the night. It was dark out, almost unnaturally, though he could not have been much an hour or two til sunset; the layers of clouds in the sky was thick enough to defy the sunlight, a brooding shadow across the Union.

The bar saw no customers today, due to the severity of the rain. Longshot was upstairs in the bedroom, carving SmellerBee a small trinket which she could dangle, amongst the thousand others, around her slender waist. She had a collection there all gifted by Longshot, some of them secretly embedded with knives, for even Longshot knew better than to deny her nature. She was wiping down tables when the only customer for the day entered, and when she heard his dripping frame squelch through the door she did not even bother to look up.

"You want a room, you gotta pay up front. Otherwise find somewhere else."

It was Iroh who entered the bar, shrouded in a cloak, eyes like embers beneath his hood. His body was weakened with age now, and he did not possess the ambitious glimmer in his eyes that his younger brother did; but there was power in frame still, like an old and incorruptible dragon.

"SmellerBee, is it? I hardly recognized you. You've grown up since we last met."

SmellerBee looked up, perplexed, to see Iroh lower his hood. He had a look about him this day that was otherworldly, as though he had strayed from though, and waked dangerously close to the spirit realms. The surprise came across SmellerBee's face like a streak of lightning.

"Master Iroh," it was awkward, to see SmellerBee bow her respect to anyone; she was a singularly defiant of authority and never bowed if she could help it.

"Please," he raised his hand, a gesture of peace and goodwill. "I only need to talk."

"Of - of course," SmellerBee hurried over to the nearest table, to take down a chair for him. He sat slowly, carefully, taking in the atmosphere of the bar with a distant, sad delight. SmellerBee ran back over to the bar once he was seated, remembering her duties as hostess.

"Would you like anything? An ale? Something stronger?"

"If you could find any tea, perhaps," Iroh said hopefully, and even though the bar was not at all known for selling tea, SmellerBee somehow managed to find some leaf in the back cupboards and make up a small pot.

While she was mixing in the tea and waiting for it to boil, Longshot came slowly down the stairs, weary from the affect of the rain and shadows outside. It was a gloomy, tired sort of day, and the archer was still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he entered the bar. He saw SmellerBee first, and had mostly the mind to wrap his arms around her and explore her white neck; but when he saw Iroh sitting quietly in the midst of the bar, he changed his mind.

"Longshot?" Iroh stood to take the man's hand in his own, Longshot nodding slowly and staring, bewildered, at the legendary firebender before him. "You have the same eyes as your brother."

The mention of Jet made a small rush of displeasure course through Longshot, but he kept his composure. SmellerBee came in with the steaming tea, pouring them both a cup, despite the fact Longshot had no taste for tea. Iroh raised the cup to his lips and took a sip; he cringed, visibly, as he downed the liquid, trying in vain to turn it into a polite cough. SmellerBee really didn't care if he liked the tea or not (it wasn't like she made it all that often) but it was charming to see the old man try to be pleasant about it. After all, SmellerBee had scrapped the tea leaves from the back of a cupboard, and it probably tasted horrific.

"Ah. Jasmine. A good choice," Iroh muttered lamely. Even Longshot, who had not tried the tea yet (though he could tell, just by the smell, that it would probably make him gag) had to suppress a smile at the old man's endurance.

"So... what is it you need, sir?" SmellerBee asked. She knew, too, that the tea was horrible, but once again she didn't care. She served ale for a living. She wasn't no damn tea-maker like that Jin girl that Jet used to run with.

"My nephew..." Iroh said it without looking at them, as though the very idea of Zuko caused him visible pain. "I was wondering - have you heard any news from him?"

Longshot narrowed his eyes at the old man. He had not thought much about Zuko, not since the firebender had fled to Acchai with Aang. He assumed the man would return someday, but with conflict hanging on the horizon he was beginning to doubt it.

"None, sir," SmellerBee answered for them both, and Iroh looked sorrowfully into his tea.

"I see," Iroh took another sip of the tea, and there was a defeated look to his frame. "I see..."

At that moment, there was a decisive, hollow _boom_ from down the street, and the main gate of _Balda Haram_ erupted into a pillar of flame.

Men - mostly earthbenders and guards with the King's crest - fell from the towers on either side of the gate, as fiery debris rained down from the heavens, and the sick, black smoke went up. Longshot leapt and sent his chair flying back behind him; SmellerBee had jumped, instinctively drawing a curved dagger from her waist. The gate was coated in black smoke, half-burned men crawling and running from the fires still burning at its edges, great hunks of stone cast off into the distance. It had all happened so suddenly that many of the men, calling desperately for help, were not heard or aided for going on an hour; part of the city wall had caught fire, and more than one watch-tower was aflame with red and yellow. Earthbenders ran from the blaze in droves, heedless of their duties, and the commands of their Dai Li captains.

Within the smoke, a Ghost moved towards the fires, towards the shouting Dai Li, shouting for their men to put out return. The same Dai Li who had orchestrated rising taxes, and raids, and unprovoked attacks on the muddy little town.

"What the hell?" SmellerBee looked first to Longshot, and then to Iroh. She made a motion towards the door, but Longshot held her fast by her shoulder. Neither man dared to move, Longshot glaring fiercely out the window into the red blaze, Iroh staring into his teacup.

"You should know that you cannot defend this bar," Iroh was talking to Longshot, who gave only the faintest nod that he heard. "They will take _Balda Haram_ by tomorrow night. They will preach in the market-square and they will incite the people to arms. They will shows the heads of conquered Earls and Lords, and send messengers to _Balda Pera_, and Tabuk, and _Badr Hunayn_. Within a week, everything east of Ankara will be of the Rebellion. The Union will be at war."

Iroh looked terrible and unreal, the windows glaring gold and red behind him from the strength of the flaming gate. His shadow danced across the table-tops, mockingly.

"What would you suggest we do?" Longshot said it, and for one of the first times he truly wanted this advice. He knew the wisdom of Zuko's Uncle and he respected it, black eyes tainted red from the reflection in the windows.

"I can suggest nothing. I am still not sure which side is right, and which is wrong - or even if they are not both right, or both wrong. I can suggest only that you keep those you love close to you, and follow your own destiny."

He stood then, stopping for only a moment to incline his head respectfully to SmellerBee. There were bags under his eyes, and as he stood his sleeve was caught on the table. It pulled back to reveal, for half a moment, the small, white and red tattoo of a lotus on the inside of his wrist.

"Thank you for the tea."

As soon as he was out the door, lost in the drifting, wind-whipped smoke and red glare, SmellerBee turned wrathfully on Longshot.

"What the hell is going on?"

A Ghost walked out of the black smoke of the gate, carrying a potato sack over one shoulder. The bottom of it was wet and soaked with red.

**_Break_**

Sokka was standing in front of a great, high window, but it was dark now and only moonlight flowed in to illuminate him. Most of the candles in the room they had dimmed, and the fire was low; their aim was for discretion, so that any passing guards would overlook their meeting-place. Any talk heard of where Zuko had been, and what he had heard, would be traitorous and slanderous, and he would swing by the morning.

Aang was sitting in a fashionable, comfortable satin chair, but he did so with disgust; before Sokka had summoned him, he had accompanied Suki to her servant duties - but even the palace slaves, who should have been on level with him, spat miserably at his feet and muttered in various languages of the 'walking filth'. Nowhere in the palace was safe from this treatment, and despite the symbol of protection hung around his neck, the YuYan archers took imaginary aim at him, and the guards were not above kicking him down when he had the misfortune to get in their way. The airbender had a bruise running up his leg now from one such incident, and had he allowed Suki to draw her machete, they would both be feathered with arrows by now. Yet Aang had taken it all in stride, and now he sat, silent and miserable within his vain quest for justice.

Zuko had told Sokka, as well as he could, the exact words of his father. With Myobu by his side, correcting him at some parts, he was able to convey the message substantially - yet Sokka gave nothing except the occasional nod or one-word answer, and Aang was silent.

"My father is alive," Sokka said slowly. Clouds were gathering in the distant, blown swiftly from the West, partly covering the moon. "I can't believe this..."

_It is true. The Chief is in hiding from Long Feng's spies. But he has journeyed to the deep reaches of the South, where the world is still very untouched; and he has found truths there, as you found in the Library._ Myobu said it swiftly and without emotion.

"...Fuck all," Sokka breathed, and turned away towards the window. A long moment passed where the Prince stared out into the dark, the shadows of the YuYan archers still showing along the walls, even in the night. Zuko tried to ignore his own anger and confusion at the events of the night, knowing it would be harder for Sokka to take in his father's existence, and the innocence of Jeong-Jeong, his supposed killer.

"So... you've got something to do with Acchai, and we're supposed to go to the Northern Aurora Tribe - and in two days?" he muttered, and there was mild annoyance in his voice.

"More or less," Zuko said vaguely, seeing the gathered frustration in Sokka's frame.

"Well - did he say what Aang had to do?" Zuko could tell it wasn't the question Sokka wanted to ask. He wanted to know why his father hadn't summoned _him_ - he wanted to know why Jeong-Jeong had lied, why the Chief had been in hiding all these years without any contact with his son. Zuko felt it, familiarly, but knew he could never understand; Sokka had grown up beneath the guidance of a man believed responsible for his father's death, and yet respected nonetheless. Now his father was alive, and everything was turned around. Years of war and wondering and hatred were lost, replaced abruptly with abandonment and lies.

"Don' need ta' tell me, Sokka," Aang spoke before Zuko could, and there was an unexpected strength in the airbender's voice. "I've got it set already, y'see. I gotta speak ta' the Emper'r. Gotta make him see is wrong - is all wrong, war an' all."

"The Emperor will never allow you in his sight, Aang," Sokka said, apologetically, still focused inwardly on his elusive father. Aang licked his teeth and glared down at the ground for a moment, still seated in the chair. His shoulders shook a little.

"...I gotta try, Sokka. Is the only way."

"Aang, believe me, I know you feel like -"

"You know?" Aang stood suddenly, flinging back the luxurious chair and coming face-to-face with Sokka, furious and imposing despite his lack of height in comparison to the Prince. "You _know_? Don' go an' tell me ya' know, Sokka! Ya' think ya' know what is like, bein' me? Bein' an airbender? Bein' filth?"

Sokka was already tensed and on edge from Zuko's message, and the firebender knew that the situation could get out of hand, fast.

"Aang, you're not -"

"Hell fo'!" Aang snarled, and the despairing, empty wrath in his gaze was horrible. The eruption caught Sokka off guard, but he got his edge back swiftly, while Aang ranted: "S'way it is. You know is true - so don' you talk ta' me tha' way. Don' talk like you know. Don' you dare."

"Aang, it's alright -" Zuko began, and realized his mistake too late.

"Don' you try an' say tha' to me,!" Aang turned blindly and shoved Zuko, so hard the firebender flew back into the wall and a huge, clunking vase fell from the shelves and shattered. Aang did not flinch, nor show any remorse at the sight of Zuko slammed against the wall.

"Don' eitha a you say it ta' me! I've been 'minded of it from the firs' second I been 'ere! I can't walk free, I can't ev'n look no one righ' in the eye, 'less I wanna fight some. Same every damn where, too. I nev'r 'ad to live with it til I got me these damn tattoo's - but don' change the fact. Shouldn' be 'shamed a who I am. Shouldn' be. Is wrong. But don' try an' tell me "is alrigh'". S'not alrigh'. Reckon tha's why I'm 'ere in the firs' place. 'Ere to change it. 'Ere to 'mind people wha' the world used ta' be like."

The airbender seemed to deflate abruptly from the weight of his task, destroyed by the sheer enormity of it all, but he did not at once retreat from Sokka. The Prince studied the Avatar for a long time before responding, knowing the young man was riding the edge, and a wrong move would send him spiraling down.

"But Aang...that's exactly why he won't hear you. You're an airbender. The fact you're even in the palace right now... it's a scandal. He'll never see you."

Aang shoved roughly away from the Prince and strode towards the window, still feeling all the more helpless and enraged.

"Then... jus' gotta find some otha' way. Gotta stop this war 'fore it starts."

Zuko thought of his Uncle, and the calm, collected attitude he exhibited in the worst of circumstances. He tried his hardest to emulate it.

"If its true about the war in the Union, we can't stop it," he said finally, and though Aang looked at him wildly and seemed ready to burst again, he continued fearlessly. "We're too far away, and we don't even know who we'll be fighting - or who's even on the right side. But Aang's right. We might be able to stop Long Feng from launching _his_ war."

For the first time in a long time, Aang smiled thankfully at the firebender, who nodded towards him. Ever since _Balda Haram_ they had watched each other's backs, but it was times like these when the friendship was needed most. Aang stood a little taller, and a little prouder, after that.

"Long Feng will never talk to him," Sokka growled. "He's the _Emperor_. They'd have Aang killed before he stepped within the door."

"Then we'll get them alone together, somehow," it was Zuko's turn to stand now.

"No. Aang will never be able to get to him in private. He's too well guarded."

"I'm gonna find a way, Sokka," Aang said fiercely. "You ain't got to support me, but don' go shootin' down wha' I'm already set on doin' -"

"- It's got to be in a public place," Sokka's words interrupted Aang, bold and unexpected. "Then Aang might be overlooked, and he might be able to get a word in. But we need to figure out where."

Sokka's sudden shift in sides made Aang happy and Zuko suspicious, but neither of them debated the man's change or heart much. For a moment they all mused upon the possible routes; the Emperor would hardly ever be seen in a public place. He was the Ascent to Heaven, and to reveal himself to any sort of commoner would mean a festival or celebration of some kind was taking place - a war victory, or a holiday, or -

Or a wedding.

"What about the wedding feast?" Zuko hit upon the idea instantaneously, and both men looked at him, alarmed. "They'll be swamped with guests, right? We'll do it then - wait til Long Feng takes a leave and catch him by himself."

"What do you think?" Sokka was looking at Aang now. Aang shrugged and exchanged anther glance with Zuko.

"Hell, I ain't got nothin' better."

"Alright..." Sokka strode over to the other side of the room, tearing a sheet of parchment from an unoccupied desk. In several swift motions he located a bottle of ink and wrote a quick, hardly legible note to his sisters, comical in his attempts to make his handwriting readable. "Look, Aang - the places where you can't go...they'll be marked with an Air symbol. You'll see it. Try and find Song, or one of my sisters, and give them this note. Tell them everything that's happened here. They'll probably be able to find you some type of disguise for the feast. The servants are all responsible for clothing anyways."

"Savvy, Sokka. Thanks," Aang clutched for the note a little too enthusiastically and then turned to skid out of the room, the joy returned to his step now that they had some type of plan to follow. Sokka stopped Zuko from following the airbender with only a look.

"Zuko, you and I will have to keep an eye out for whenever Long Feng leaves. Aang's going to have a hard enough time just blending in. We'll have to get him to work on his accent too, probably - either that or we can't let him talk."

"Savvy," Zuko nodded, and the firebender turned to leave.

"Wait -"

The Prince took him by the shoulder and Zuko, feeling for the first time a real, deep-seated respect for this man of Acchai, turned to meet his icy gaze. While he did so he thought of Hakoda, and realized with strange humor how much Sokka really resembled him. The fury on the face of Fong at this discovery would have been legendary.

"I won't assume anything. But why did you persuade Long Feng to send my sisters into the slave-service?"

A flash of angry, hurt blue eyes and an ache in his chest. Zuko felt the self-righteous fury at Katara's overreaction rise in him, but he defied it, if only to escape punishment from her brother.

"Yes. Long Feng took offense from their...'marriage' to me," Zuko said it a little sarcastically, but Sokka (ironically) did not find the humor. "I tricked him into giving them that punishment, instead of his...usual one."

"So you saved them from a beating?" the emotionless way in which he said it suggested that, even Sokka, who loved his sisters more than his own life, was familiar with the prospect. Zuko reminded himself swiftly that Sokka was still a grown man of Acchai, despite his heritage; and then he wondered, blindly, stupidly, if Sokka had ever had to beat his sisters. He pushed the cruelty of the thought away immediately.

"I suppose so," he relented. Sokka said nothing; just put his hand on Zuko's shoulder, stared him straight in his piercing golden eyes, and nodded. Zuko inclined his head, with a sudden, sweeping feeling that he could, in fact, see this man as a great leader; then the Prince swept past him, followed closely by the loyal Myobu.

And whatever mistrust Sokka had harbored for the firebender was lost.

**_Break_**

"So."

Suki was beating rugs in the servant's yard the next morning, when Sokka came upon her. Even as she worked, he saw how she wore the black sari and niqab with disdain; she had probabl never worn so much clothing in her life, and was sweating beneath the fabric. The clotheslines were covered in all manner of dirty and drying blankets and rugs and other such things as needed to be hung and cleaned. There was a basket of dry, folded clothes at Suki's side, filled with fabric she had taken down from the lines. Other servants scattered the yard, working their own ways along their own lines, but there were far enough away not to notice the Prince between blankets.

"So what?" said Suki stiffly, still hammering at the rug. Sokka placed himself on the other side of the line, watching her as she worked.

"So...we never really finished our discussion yesterday."

"I don't have to tell you anything," she said roughly, and moved onto a tarnished blanket, covered in mud and dirt. Sokka followed her on the other side of the line, judging her movements by the motion of her shadow behind the blanket.

"Yeah...I know."

Something in the way he said it mad Suki pause as she beat the blanket. There was no force or judgement in his voice, and made her heart feel light in her chest. Still, she ignored him, continuing with the slave-work she had been assigned, silent as stone and awaiting his departure.

But Sokka did not leave. He said nothing else, and made no move closer to her, but he did not leave. Suki moved slowly down the line, folding and beating and hanging various rugs and articles of clothing, all the while he walked along the other side of the line. She saw him fiddle with his sword hilt once or twice, or look up expressionlessly at the clouding sky; but he remained in the yard, stubbornly it seemed, waiting for her to speak. There was something limitlessly comforting in his presence that, despite her shame and anger, made her feel delightfully safe.

"I...I don't know who she was," when she finally said it, her voice was strained, and she was concentrating a little too intently on her current rug. "But - I remember she was beautiful."

"Hm," the noise he made neither encouraged her to continue or to stop. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. She glanced at him from around the edge of the blanket, strong and silent in the morning light. She tried to remind herself that he'd once called her a bitch, but that incident seemed far and insignificant now.

"She said she was a spirit, I think," she tried to detach herself from the situation, as though she could. "There was something about...about someone named Koh. She said she was trapped, and I had to free her."

"Trapped?" his question was honest, unbiased, confused. Suki moved on to a blanket, blocking the Prince from her view.

"I didn't really understand it either," Suki paused while feeling the fabric, still slightly damp between her fingers. "But I think - I think she was trapped _within_ herself. She kept saying I had to release her, and that...that I was the only one who could."

Then she pulled down the blanket, and Sokka was there, waiting. His eyes on her were intense, inescapable. She looked down, flushed beneath the niqab, hands tight and nervous around the clothe.

"Why you?" Sokka watched her, intrigued. Suki finally turned and looked at him, green eyes bold but vulnerable in the morning light.

"Because I was innocent."

The blanket was still crumpled in her hands, and Sokka, quiet and careful, took it slowly from her grip. She allowed him to lean across her and place it in the basket beside her, dangerously close, a clear, subtle view of the side of his face, his neck, his strong arm and shoulder. When he returned to stand before her, she realized how tall and noble he really was, and how understanding the blue depths of his eyes were.

"It's alright. You didn't know."

Suki's eyes were on him, longingly, desperately. His fingers brushed the side of her arm and suddenly she wanted all the _isangoma_'s predictions to come true.

Somehow he read the desire in her eyes and in a gentle, caressing motion his hands slid down the length of her covered skin, and he snaked his arms around her. She put her hands on his chest, fingers distracted briefly with the ties on his leather armor, secretly wishing she could tear it off and have him right there in the grass.

They stayed that way for a long moment, Sokka trying in vain to imagine the immeasurable guilt in her heart, and outwardly admiring the way she pressed on despite this early trauma. She was soul of boundless courage, great as - if not greater - than any man of Acchai he was likely to meet. Even the smartest, most terrifying warriors of the war-lands had been in their mother's laps at age four, torn from their families only when they reached the ripe, trainable age of seven. So in awe (and perhaps some veiled lust) he held her close to her, and mostly without fear; if any servants saw them this way, they would probably just assume the girl was Sokka's bed-slave.

Sokka, however, did not like the idea of such a rumor circulating around Long Feng's palace - so before he did anything too rash, he blurted out his real reason for coming.

"Come on my arm tomorrow," he said it blindly, impulsively.

"What?" she breathed, looking up at him with the surprise written clearly in her green gaze.

"At the feast," Sokka corrected himself. "...I want you to come on my arm."

"...Why?"

He hesitated. Why? Oh, God - why did she ask that? How did he _answer_ that? He could feel her moving in his arms, against his body and was reminded unhelpfully of the sight of her endless, golden legs, the partly revealed swell of her breast beneath woven banana leaves. He swallowed to control himself and tried to answer without hinting at any of his own, personal needs.

"We're leaving after the feast," said Sokka lowly, so that any stray servants couldn't eaves-drop. "And I want you to come with us. I won't make you do anything, but - but if you do, you'd be helping the Avatar. And - well, you wouldn't have to wear the niqab or anything. I can tell you don't like it. You could go back to what you normally wear and everything."

"...So you can get your fill of my thighs again?" Suki found herself chuckling smartly, and Sokka stumbled at her words.

"Wh - What? Well...no. Maybe. No! _That's _not the point -"

"Alright," said Suki swiftly, and then she was out of his arms, picking up the basket of laundry, leaving him dazed. "What would you have me wear, then?"

"...Wear?" he was distracted and upset that she had left his arms, and she looked back at him crossly.

"I _w__ill_ have to _wear_ something. For mercy's sake, Sokka..."

Sokka looked her up and down, and this time she made no comment or move that she noticed, delighting in his desire for her. His words were sly, but nervous, when he next spoke.

"Something...exotic."

**_Break_**

Zuko paced the halls, without purpose or direction, lost in the palace of Masabi.

He thought, sourly, then angrily, then despairingly, on what Hakoda had said. When he had left _Balda Haram_ on Jet's wishes, he had not truly expected to find anything - not the barbaric, alluring truth of the war-lands of Acchai, nor the discovery of the Avatar, nor the ancient realms of a forgotten Library or the terrors of an Acchain Rope-Walk. Everything he had endured so far had been through blind luck (destiny, though, his Uncle would have called it) and he had survived it all through equally blind luck. He was not up too standards as the other men of Acchai. He had not lived the war-life, he had not spent his childhood with wars and scandals and unnamed perils. He was the banished, bastard son of a serf-lord of_Balda Haram_, banished for trying to save his cousin, his brother, from a brutal and untimely death.

Destiny, his Uncle would have said. Everyone has their own destiny. You must follow the path before you as well as you can. You must do the right thing.

The right thing would have been to stay and get arrested with Jet. The right thing would have been keeping Katara _away_ from Masabi, as far as humanly possible. So was the right thing really to trust these two men - Jeong-Jeong, who had practically sentenced him to death (which Zuko was still sore about, understandably) and this stranger, Hakoda, who looked more the part of a beggar than a man of intelligence and power? Was he supposed to brave a thousands dangers in the limitless wilds of Acchai, simply to satisfy the legend that had been recorded by his ancestor? Was he really _destined_ to do this?

The injustice of it infuriated him. What right did these strangers have to tell him what to do with _his_ life?

It was because of these thoughts that he did not see Katara at once when he rounded the corner. She was walking towards him, holding an empty bucket in her arms, on her way to the palace well. When she saw Zuko, she froze, terrified. He looked up a second after she saw him.

"Katara -"

Her eyes were wide and blue and fearful. Already she had turned to bolt back the way she had come, to avoid his apologies and explanations. She almost dropped the bucket on her way, heedless of any punishment she would receive for the mishap.

But this time, Zuko wasn't letting her get away. It was his turn to be angry.

When his hand closed around her wrist, she reacted instantly, dropping the bucket to the ground and whirling around to slap him across his scarred face. He caught her other wrist as she tried,

"Get _off_ me, you _foul_, _lying_ -"

"Listen to me - listen me to me, you - you stupid woman!" Zuko snarled, but immediately regretted it when a fountain of water burst from the canteen at her side and tackled him headlong into the ground. As soon as she was down she turned to fled, but Zuko had already spat out an angry burst of flame from his throat and leapt, fast as the wind, to follow her. She heard his footfall behind her and bent up another whip of water, to defend herself; but his flame tore through her attack, red and blazing - and then he had her wrists, and a shot of pain went up her back as swung her around against the wall, eyes like hellfire in the morning light.

"You - you - dont' touch me!" she writhed in his grasp, but he was already loomed over her, inescapable and seething.

"You're acting like a child!"

"Let me go, _huo-rén__!"_

Zuko's eyes widened with golden fury at her words and his grip on her wrists tightened. Her dark skin turned white, then red.

"Don't you ever _dare_ call me that!"

"You're the one who said all those ruthless things - !"

"I didn't do it to hurt you!"

"Ha! Sure, sure - why don't you just - just go back to the Union? Just go back to your precious Mai - treat _her_ like shit for a change -"

"Don't you _dare say that_!" Zuko roared, slammed her wrists into the wall above her, and in blind pain from his tight, unshakeable grip, her anger fluttered and died. She quailed, terrified beneath him, legs grown weak as he glared down at her, near demonic in his fury. "I did what I had to! And everything - _everything_ I did was too protect you! You have to believe me!"

Her quip about Mai had stabbed him deep, but not because he held any affection for the other woman. He was starting to leave Mai behind in a way he never thought possible; she was distant in his memory now, unimportant, a cruel sort of memory. But it still hurt, distantly, though for what reason he couldn't quite place.

"Why should I?" but her voice was weak with fear, and she was finally looking at him now, the pain written clearly within her endless eyes, the rest of her hidden with the niqab. "You're just - you're just the same. You're all the same. I'm just - I'm an object to you. You don't...you don't respect me."

"Yes I do," Zuko stated loudly, forcefully. "I did what I did because I _do_ respect you."

"And what does that mean?" she spat, but there was a hint of hope in her voice.

Zuko clenched his teeth, felt the fury rush through him like living fire, the desire to scream into her face. His hands tightened once again around her wrists, heated suddenly with his inner flame. Katara, surprised by his strength and the inexplicable burning sensation, gasped pitifully in pain.

It was the sight of her anguished eyes that stopped him, and the pained exhale fro her lips. He felt dirty, suddenly - hadn't he done everything he could to _keep_ from hurting her? And yet here he was, rubbing her wrists raw, causing her more terror than any single slap would do. His grip went abruptly slack and she recovered her hands, rubbing her wrists where he had held them.

"...Nevermind," Zuko hissed, and then turned to leave. He almost half-expected her to attack his exposed back, an assault fueled by leftover pain, and so he tensed himself instinctively.

Her heart was beating fast with fear, and it took her a concentrated effort to get her mindset back. Just as he was about to turn the corner, she searched and found for her voice. She spoke so lowly that Zuko barely heard her, the whisper on an angel.

"...Wait."

He went a few more steps and then, as if she had some invisible power over him, he stopped. He only turned half-way to face her, barely able to see her step forward, hesitantly.

"Please...what do you mean? I'm - I won't interrupt."

She was rubbing her red wrists and staring hungrily into his eyes, but said nothing else, as though to cement her words. Zuko hesitated, visibly, still on edge from the coupled weight of everything that had so currently befallen him.

He didn't want to deal with this right now. He'd done everything he could to protect her, to keep her from harm, and what had she done in return? She had treated him like a traitor and a liar at the first sign of trouble, without even considering an explanation. So in righteous wrath and absolute stupidity, Zuko strode back and loomed over her, dark and ominous in the morning light.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway," he snarled, and she seemed upset at the fury in his face. "I'm just a lying _huo-rén_, right?"

"Zuko... I didn't mean -"

"Didn't mean what? Go on. I'm_ listening_. You're the one with the answers, right?"

"Stop it! Don't talk to me that way!" the irony and injustice of her words incited him.

"Oh, so I can't talk to _you_ that way, but you can say hell all to me, can't you? You know something - I think there was some truth to what I said. I think you are just a spoiled girl, just like those sisters of yours -"

This time he didn't see the slap coming, but she had already leapt from his swinging range by the time he spun his head back, scarred cheek red from her blow. She gathered up her bucket and glared spitefully at him, and despite the churning rage in his chest he still did not move to attack her.

"Go to hell," Katara hissed the insult with an angry tear in the corner of her eye, and then strode wrathfully away to find Song and Toph.

Zuko cursed, punched the wall for the absolute absurdity and unfairness of the situation, and strode off the opposite way to find a drink.

**_Break_**

All manner of citizen and merchant and indentured servant and slave had gathered in the market-place that evening to discuss the happenings of the previous day. The gate had been bordered off, and word sent to the nearest town for reinforcements in its defense; several of the Dai Li captains had been found dead, among the numerous others who had perished in the blast. The lowest of the citizens - as well as people like Vica, SmellerBee, Longshot, and the students of the Academy - were still wondering whether or not the 'accident' had been beneficial to their causes.

Azula and Mai strode onto the market platform with Jet and Zhanu flanking them protectively. The platform was usually reserved for gypsy performers, executions, and other manner of public entertainment. For this reason most eyes in thee square were already on Azula when she began, bold and beautiful and satanic against the dying sun.

"All ears!" she cried. "All ears!"

The rest of the crowd turned to her, mildly interested in her beautiful frame and composure, but unsuspecting of the deceitful glint in her eye.

"You are the root of the Union," Azula began, fearlessly. "You are what every great kingdom is built upon. And yet you have no rights, no lands, no respect! You have already earned it - now when will you _demand_ it?"

Her opening lines were captivating. Jet listened, detached and uninterested, concerned only with the various nobles scattered throughout the crowd. They had separated themselves, of course, from the angry peasants; but Azula's words were making them skittish, and more than one began to gesture to their drivers to bear them away, as the heiress of Agni continued her speech.

"How often do they tax you without cause? How often do they storm into your homes, and take your food, without any right?"

About half the crowd roared their approval. Jet shifted the stalk of grass in his mouth, kept his eyes on Azula.

"Do you know what the nobles say of us?" she breathed, and now the crowd was growing captivated by her, the fierce persuasion in her voice, the devilish charm in her beautiful face. "They say we are the filth of the earth! They say we are lower than their cattle, than their pigs! They live in their high mansions with glass doors, and eat tender meats and chocolate - and where do they leave us? In the mud, in the streets! How long have the people of our natures, the backbone of the Union - how long have we suffered corrupt Advisors and Earls and Lords? How long have we endured their tyranny? _How long_?"

Zhanu stood silent and smug beside Jet. They had persuaded him with promises of power, and despite his father's protests, he had come to their support. Yet the eyes of the son of Zhao were ever fixed on Mai, his real prize, who stood a little ways off to Azula's right, as emotionless and undisturbed as ever.

In Jet's right hand there hung a potato sack, the bottom stained red. There was no expression on his face.

"Liar! You are of the house of Agni! You don't know us!" it was SmellerBee who screamed, despite Longshot's disapproval and the hiss of the crowd. Azula responded smoothly. She did not even flinch.

"I forsake the life that lies have bought me. I forsake the rule of a so-called, Chosen King, who allows us to live in such despair. I refuse to believe in this Union! Be men of courage, be women of wrath! Punish them for their misdeeds against you! Show them they cannot treat you this way - show them how mighty you can be! Show them they are _not untouchable_!"

She swept aside, and though all eyes wished to follow the violent grace in her movement, they were distracted by the dark-haired man who had taken her place, black eyes empty and ferocious, frame bent with sin, hand digging into the potato sack.

Jet raised the severed, still bloodied head of the Dai Li agent. The crowd roared, thundered, went mad at the sight, raised their staves and torches in reply. In support of Azula, and her civil war.

Blood dripped down onto the cobbled street before Jet, and Longshot took SmellerBee's hand as the crowd began to riot.


	31. The Wedding Feast

I'm so, so sorry this chapter took so long - it was very difficult to write, for many reasons. One was Suki's outfit. The bigger one was the fact that I had to mix jazz, flamenco, the Indian gypsy style dancing, and bellydancing into one cluttered but oddly satisfying dance sequence. I hope you can imagine it as cinematically as I was going for. Maybe /... :D And then i became three times logner just so everything made sense chronologically. I'm sorry. Here's the chapter.

GUESS WHO'S GETTIN' SOME??

**_Break_**

Everything was set.

After scouring the dressers and closets and wardrobes of all the palace noblemen (under the guise of obedient, humble servants, of course), the girls had secured a fairly respectable outfit for the bewildered Avatar. It was a simple, dark green dress robe, sleeves long enough to cover the tattoos on his arms, a brilliant gold sash slapped across his chest. The outfit was just the slightest bit big on him, but Song had trimmed and pinned it enough so that no one was bound to notice, unless they looked uncomfortably close. His head they covered with an Acchain fur-lined hat, not quite as dark as the robe, but they could do no better for the time being - and poor Aang, trying so hard to be proud of his tattoos while knowing they were the main setback, apologizing all the while and vowing to stop shaving altogether.

Toph tried to train him to cover his accent, as she was the one with the best ears. Two hours went by of just them sitting in a broom closet, Toph trying to get him to say the 'r' at the end of words, or to pronounce an 'h' sound. Aang applied himself diligently, but unfortunately it was a thin cover at best. They decided Aang should probably just nod when people addressed him, and do whatever he could to avoid speaking.

Sokka and Zuko had picked their robes half-heartedly; a dark blue set for Sokka, edges trimmed with silver, soft and weightless as satin. His belt was thick and adorned with a thousand painted symbols, along with a few encrusted diamonds for good taste. His black sword hung ceremoniously at his side, only for show in the ballroom of the Emperor. On the left side of his chest, the Emperor had demanded he wear the symbol of the Aurora tribes, the waves crashing against a silent shore. Prince Sokka stood tall, if hesitantly, when he wore this robe.

Zuko had no symbol of rank on his robe, and no sword to sling at his side. His crimson and gold outfit framed him handsomely, his belt made of raw, red leather, oddly impressive in it's simplicity. There were golden characters on the arms of his outfit, though they were of an Eastern tongue and he could not read them. The hardest part of the evening, however, was his mussed mess of hair; it took Song about ten minutes to get it lie totally flat, and even after that, the slightest tussle would send it flying loose again.

The plan was brilliantly simple. Long Feng would leave for a change of clothes about half-way through the night; he would need to be in his best for the wedding toast, but before then he would be wearing a looser robe for dancing. Somehow they would distract the guards - Aang said he could handle it, and they trusted him, despite the fact he had a nervous, unsure tone in his voice.

When the guards looked away, the Avatar would slip by and follow the Emperor. Zuko would have to be waiting on the other side of the hall, in the event Aang's plan failed and they had to evacuate quickly. If indeed the plan failed, Zuko was to set fire to the hall, and amidst the terror and confusion the group would escape, lost beneath the smoke. If all went well with the Emperor, though, then...well, then they could just enjoy the party.

Everything was set. And Sokka was a little more than determined, this time, that his plan would work.

**_Break_**

Sokka was uncomfortable, waiting in the hall for Suki to arrive. Torn between a mad desire to court her openly, the bottled anger he had towards his elusive father, and the creeping nervousness of their situation tonight, he fiddled with the lining on his robe so badly it was starting to wear out.

But when she came to take his arm, everything seemed to melt together and vanish into a bewildered, embarrassing sort of dream.

Her dress was nothing like Sokka had expected. Whereas Suki had been presented with a fairly conservative, green and gold dress, one of the caravan woman's extras lying about, she had tailored and cut and re-designed the lot of it into something utterly wild and dangerous. She had completely removed long strips from either side of the dress, and the golden lengths of her voluptuous legs were all but revealed between the shorn, dark green fabric. In fact there seemed nothing less to the lower half of her dress than two long strips of clothe hung down to cover her _most_ indecent areas, redeemed slightly by the golden, lion-fur lined edges, and the thin, painted fan designs crawling up towards her waist. From here the dress became tight across her hidden stomach, still its dark, jungle green, until it stopped just above the abrupt swell of her breast. There was a self-made belt of colorless gems and seashells slung at her waist, hung with miniature gold fans, supported only (Sokka noticed visibly) by the arc of each hip. Her arms were bare, save for a few bangles of gold, and after seeing her these past few days garbed as a servant, the sight of the hollows in her neck and her full, red lips was beyond unbearable.

She had thread colored beads into her hair and to all the available fabric of her dress, and the make-up on her face was delightfully reminiscent of her war-paint. Her ankles jingled as she walked towards him, hung with fake gold coins and beads and even, if one looked hard enough, a few wild fangs; her long, chestnut hair she let free, and it fell over like a curtain, face half-hidden behind one glistening fan, which she held shyly before her face. She looked more a foreign diplomat or wild princess than anything, and brave Prince Sokka became a blubbering fool in her presence.

"You...you..." he couldn't seem to grasp any use of his tongue, numbed by the sight of Suki, beaming and beautiful and untamed.

"...What?" Suki smiled up at him, slid her arm under his, allowed her fingers to stray, intertwine with his. Sokka moved his mouth for a moment longer, enamored, then said, abruptly:

"You - you can't _wear_ that, Suki -!" Sokka looked around wildly for any guards, and then pulled her aside into the shadows of the hall, much to her bewilderment.

"Why not?" there was no hiss of vehemence in her voice, only a real sort of disappointment that made Sokka look up, unexpectedly, into her pleading, fiery green eyes. She held his gaze for a moment and then added, as he stood transfixed: "...You don't like it?"

"Of course I - I mean -" Sokka looked down the length of her body again and had to release her before an certain instinctive urge overcame him. "I - I like it Suki - I _really_ like it - but it's not..."

"Not very conservative, is it?" for some reason Suki was smiling again, and Sokka realized she had edged in closer to him.

"Some of the women tonight will be walking around practically bare-breasted, Sokka. I saw them in the dressing hall. They say Long Feng does this every time he marries, to show them off. I won't stand out."

"Suki, you'll definitely stand out," Sokka's eyes were still downward, on the captivating length of her body, and Suki smiled at the idiocy and sweetness of the statement. Reclaiming his arm, she planted a quick, hardly detectable kiss on the side of his cheek and allowed him to, awkwardly and wonderfully and blindly, guide her towards the main hall, where Zuko and Aang stood waiting for Zuko's false brides.

Zuko stood stiffly in his dress robe. He wasn't in the most pleasant of moods. He didn't like this idea any more than Sokka's first one, but once again none of them had been able to come up with a better, so he was rather stuck.

He also currently possessed a sort of righteous fury towards a certain extremely emotional waterbender.

He wished for a moment he was back in _Balda Haram_. Wished he was at the bar beside Jet, drinking the piss-poor excuse for ale, with jackass drunks cat-calling an infuriated SmellerBee, all of them getting Longshot's arrows in their asses.

Wished it only for a moment.

And still he did not wish for Mai.

"You aight, Zuko?" Aang shifted uncomfortably in his own dress robe, more nervous than unhappy, since he had still not mastered his accent and knew almost nothing of the court etiquette. He would be sticking close to the firebender all night, for he could ill afford to stray and arouse someone's suspicions when he did not correctly bow or pronounce a "'Ow do ya' do, ma'am?"

"Fine," but the tone in Zuko's voice suggested otherwise, and Aang knew it. But Sokka arrived then, with the wild, beautiful Suki on his arm, and they were both captivated immediately, mouths agape and all. Zuko recovered first, bowing smartly, and nudging a wide-mouthed Aang to do the same. Suki waved off their compliments politely, but before the men could adequately confirm that she _did_ look amazing, that she was the envy of all women, that she was a princess in her (a little overly nonexistent) gown, a pair of soft footfalls rose behind them and Suki squeeled as Sokka's two sisters entered the hall.

Toph came out first, and Aang, who was closest to the door, got a full-on view of her before anyone else. Even Zuko noticed his face flush drastically, eyes suddenly wide as saucers, body paralyzed.

The sari over her shoulders was so thin it might as well not have been there. She was dressed all in silver and pale green, which matched oddly with the misted blue-green of her gaze. Her sari glittered when she moved, streaming out behind her like a banner, arms bare and pale, wrists hung with a silver bangles. There was ink-writing on her shoulders in Eastern symbols, words of luck and wisdom and strength, that Song had probably written there. Her small, white stomach could be seen beneath her low-fitting, emerald green _choli _top, and Aang had to try embarrassingly hard to avert his eyes from this revealed section of her. A medium diamond had been sown in to hang between her breasts, and all around it there curled intricate designs in silver thread and the glitter of white jewels. Her skirt was long and matching green beneath the veil of the sari, its edges dressed with more diamond-dust, a white belt with white gems wrapping her small hips. A _dupatta_ covered her raven-black hair, and there was a thin veil across her mouth, but nothing like her usual sari; a few locks of her hair were free, and you could see the curved shape of her tiny ears, the side of her pale cheek.

Then Katara came in behind her, and the agonizing flame of anger in Zuko's heart shuddered and deflated.

She was wearing a sari with a transparent outer layer, shimmering blue and gold, edges decorated with Eastern symbols and the curling, ongoing design of a million twisting rosebuds. But besides this, she was altogether uncovered more than Zuko had ever seen her, and it made his cheeks burn. Her dark-skinned arms were bare, save for the bands of gold and blue upon her upper arms, and the multiple rings that had, no doubt, been forced onto her humble fingers. There were prayers and luck-charm ink symbols written on the backs of her hands, her fingernails painted the darkest, most subtle shade of indigo. Her top was an intricately designed _choli_, strapless and glittering with a thousand tiny gems, and the intricate gold and yellow trimming. It, too, formed the elaborate shape of a rose, gleaming out from the midst of her breast and hung precariously above the smooth, dark expanse of her stomach. Zuko took it all in suddenly, hungrily, forgetting (if even for a moment) how enraged he was with her. Her legs were hidden beneath the fabric of a matching blue and yellow skirt, draped all the way to the floor and held up by a small belt that dipped down, gold as the firebender's eyes, when it came to the middle of her hips.

Her head was covered with a long _dupatta _scarf, matched perfectly with the rest of her outfit; but what captivated him most was the thin, almost transparent covering across her nose and mouth. He could se the faint, delicate outline of her lips, and entranced by the elusive sight, it took him a full minute to remember how furious he was at her.

According to the veiled terror in their eyes, they might as well have been wearing underwear.

Sokka's jaw dropped in immediate fury and surprise. He leapt forward, ready to rip off his own shirt and cover their indecency, but Song had already swung out forward to stop him, Zuko's hand latched to his arm.

"These dress of the court, _Sahadev_!" she said, even though there was a defeated, offended look in her eyes. "They dress of court!"

"To hell with that!" Sokka was still trying to get to his sisters, despite Zuko's iron grip and Song being headlong in his way. "The Emperor _knows_ this is not the dress of Acchai! He's trying - he's trying to get a _look_ at them!"

"Funny, he didn't make such a loud fuss about my outfit," Suki said sideways to a bewildered Aang, who tried to grin a little.

"Yeah, but diff'ent... with 'is sista's... damn all...didn' know she 'ad them curves..."

"What?" Suki spun incredulously on Aang. who blushed and blubbered.

"Nothin'! Ain't said nothin'."

"Let me go, damnit!" Sokka roared at Zuko, but the firebender held his grip, and before Sokka could completely loose his cool and possibly harm the man, Toph raised her voice, oddly strong and fierce, though she looked so precious in her jeweled sari.

"Sokka, calm down! It's too late to do anything about it. You can't act like a brother tonight. You have to act like a Prince."

Zuko released Sokka then, or rather the Prince tore his arm so violently away that Zuko completely lost hold of him, and the Prince took turns glaring at everyone before roaring once more and kicking wildly at the nearest table.

It took a few minutes to calm the angered brother down, and another few minutes to get Aang's eyes off of Toph's body before Sokka noticed and decided to mount the Avatar's head on a wall somewhere, so in the end they were very nearly late to reaching the feast. It began in the ballroom, which was guarded by a huge, beautifully ornate golden fountain, decorated with one bold, massive statue of a roaring dragon. Water was spewing from the beast's mouth instead of the traditional fire, and in some distant way Zuko found this almost disrespectful.

He took Toph's arm on his as they neared it, Sokka before them with Suki delightfully close to his side, the both of them talking in hushed voices. In a coupled attempt to get a rise out of Katara, and out of the pure fact that they really _did _have to put on a display tonight, he hissed sideways, mostly to the waterbender:

"Remember, we're married. We're in love."

"Naturally," there was no emotion in her voice.

"So no calling me _huo-rén_, alright?"

"Let's not talk tonight, shall we?" Katara said it stiffly as she placed her arm, mechanic-like, around Zuko's elbow.

"Fine with me," he spat.

"Good."

"_Good._"

"Chauvinist."

"Child."

He felt a pinprick in his side and stifled a gasp of pain, only to realize a second later that it had been a miniature ice whip Katara had pulled from the fountain-piece. He cast a annoyed glare at her, but the guards were pulling the door open and Sokka was already entering ahead of them, and there was no time for vengeance.

"The hell?" Toph said it under her breathe, utterly lost as to the vehemence between the two.

The ballroom sat beneath the huge, glittering expanse of a massive glass dome, another monument to the massive wealth and power of the All-Seeing Emperor. It was upheld with great beams of solid gold, a never-ending reflection of precious metals and candlelight and the glow of the distant moon between the panes of sand-seared glass. The floor was golden-colored too, though this was an illusion; it was simply hardwood painted such to glow its rich yellow beneath the candlelight, decorated with grand scenes of elephants ad warriors and beautiful women, carved and flattened jewels cut into the surface. The banquet tables were piled high with exotic foods, dates and mangos and bananas, and laden with the ultimate sign of wealth: hug slabs of steak, roasted lamb, whole wild pigs with apples, venison and wild meats. Beautiful curtains spun by the artists in the southeast hung beside every tall, candlelit window; great tapestries of satin and silk, all portraying the wealth and splendor of Masabi. All quietly ignoring the slums, just a mile or so away, pressing towards the very Inner Wall.

The barbarity had followed Long Feng, even to this room. Huge tusks of ivory stood near every doorway and before the dais to the Emperor's chair, carved and studded with clear stones, almost unidentifiable as the gruesome statues they were, ripped from the mouths of beaten elephants in the south. All manner of animals skins were laid before the Emperor's chair, a gory and multi-colored carpet for him to descend; tigers and mole-bears and armadillo-lions, sand panthers and bat-wolves. The huge bust of a sabre-tooth moose lion hung above his emerald-crusted chair, an eerie and empty-eyed reminder of the ruthlessness of the Emperor, his domination of the East.

Long Feng had spared no expense on showing off his new wives, however disappointed he was in the absence of the diamond and the blue rose. Each one had their own chair, on a risen platform behind the Emperor. They rose up behind him more like a choir rather than his newly-weds, but Ravi, Inau, and Vulha could still be seen front and center, the best of his new crop (which would have been highly amusing to Katara and Toph).

His blond-haired first wife sat silently beside him, ever watchful of the events around her but never speaking a word. It was one of the reasons Long Feng prized her so much, ever since he had married her when she was fifteen; that she hardly spoke, but kept her tongue in the presence of men. He had dressed her in silver and white, as this was what she looked best in. The rest of his wives he had clothed to show off their attributes - the big-busted Tel-Aph virgins, the round-hipped women of the Islands - but none had received the care and detail of the first wife, silent and beautiful and yellow-haired, the gold coin in the talons of the Golden Hawk.

As was tradition, the group came first to the feet of the Emperor, where the women were to bow fully on their knees, and the men were to kiss the Father Ring. Sokka kissed the great, green gem, just barely able to hide his disdain; Zuko's hair managed to cover the infuriated, offended look in his eyes, and Aang was just trying to play along and had more of a scared expression that seemed to please Long Feng.

For most of the night they remained on one end of the room, seated uncomfortably and chatting with other nobles in fakely elated voices. Suki drew much attention from the younger nobles, who crowded like a pack of wolves around their side of the room, trying to hide their obvious interest in the wild woman. Katara and Toph drew as much attention, but thanks to the Emperor, everyone was aware of Zuko's supposed marriage, and no one would dare cross such a fearsome-looking man, half his face scarred with god-knows-what. So instead they focused their attentions on Suki, but in that regard got no further than with Katara or Toph. This was mainly because, every time one of them gathered enough courage to actually approach her, they were immediately dissuaded by the cold, steely blue glare of the Prince Sokka, and sent back running with their tail between their legs.

At some point, Suki decided to remove herself (without much notification to anyone else) from the presence of these persistent young men, and cross the room to join a number of elderly ladies. They were all gray-haired, their husbands congregating on their own terms, their dresses looking fringed and worn, their eyes kind. These women were no less in fear of the Emperor than anyone else, but because their age and experience had taught them more than one thing about the manners of men and society, and they were more than easygoing with the barbaric beauty of Suki.

"Where does she... Spirits, I'll be back," Sokka nodded to Zuko, who gave a hardly perceptible reply. Before either man could move, however, Katara brushed abruptly passed the firebender to follow the Kyoshi-Shaman.

"I think I will go sit with Suki, too," Katara was already moving to join her bewildered brother. Zuko, knowing that he had to eagerly feign love and defense of his supposed wives, came at once to her side with his arm extended.

"I'll escort you," his eyes were fierce.

"I can manage my own way," her voice was ice.

"...It would be better, _wife_, if I was to -"

"I think it would be better, _husband_, for you pour yourself some more wine. Get started on the evening early, perhaps."

She brushed by and disappeared into the crowd then, Toph's face scrunched up in confusion at her sister's behavior, Zuko's hand reaching out for thin air. Sokka looked from his sister to the firebender, shrugged and sent an apology with his eyes, then took off after her.

Hissing sparks between his teeth (though only a few, as he did not want to draw too much attention to himself) he politely, if a little forcefully, took Toph's hand and led her over to the drink table. A large fountain of wine was assembled in the midst of it, gorgeous and ever-flowing, a symbol of Long Feng's great wealth; Zuko cared nothing for it, save that it provided something for him to do while he was seething at Katara. Pour Toph a glass of wine while he ranted, raved inside his head at her inexplicable injustice, her deceitful beauty...

"Are you guys...fighting, or something?" Toph asked hesitantly, Zuko clumsily focused on pouring her a glass of wine, and not on Katara's wrath-filled, drop-dead gorgeous frame.

"You could say that," he snarled, unpleasantly, though for good reason. "You could also say she's having a hell of a fun time insulting me for no goddamn reason at all."

"What was that about?" Sokka asked Katara, stunned and a little infuriated at her actions with the firebender., as Suki stared at their approaching form nervously. "That was rude!"

"Maybe I'm still a little bitter, you know, about what he did to Toph and I," she stated harshly, sitting decisively down in the chair beside Suki, and making all the other guests around them just a little bit nervous. Sokka apologized with a few mumbled words and then sat beside her, asking:

"Katara, what are you -"

"- talking about?" Toph had an incredulous look on her face. Zuko ground his teeth, realized there was no way Toph _knew_ he was getting _her_ the drink, and downed the glass in one angry gulp before replying:

"Her! She's angry at me for no goddamn reason!" he felt a rock spring up under his foot and stifled a low gasp of pain at Toph's quick vengeance, on behalf of her insulted sister. A woman in an awkward, frilly red dress cast him an irritated glance, and then returned to whatever dull conversation she was having with her companion.

"Hey, I'm still a little sore about all of this too, Zuko - but yeah, unlike Katara, I'm sure you had a reason for doing what you did."

"Well - exactly! I _did_ have a reason! All I was trying to do was -"

"- protect you. It's all he's ever done," Sokka pleaded with a stone-faced Katara, who said her next few words so vehemently that the wine in her glass shuddered and cracked, and half-froze with rage.

"Then why did he send us down the the kitchens? Why did he say all those nasty things about us? Why -"

"- is she being so unreasonable? Why is she making _me_ into the bad guy?"

"Well, maybe because you never actually _told_ her why you did it, ass. And maybe she's got a lot of pressure in her life right now and she's trying to take it out. In case you _haven't_ noticed, we're all trying to pull off a fake marriage under the eyes of this completely paranoid Emperor, who, if you _haven't_ forgotten, would still really love to have us in his haram!"

"I...I know...but look - I know it's a lot of pressure, but it's not easy. I can't just walk up and tell her I saved her from -"

" - a beating. I don't know what the extent of it was, but I know Zuko made the right choice, in any case," Sokka tried to restrain his own anger, until he saw the expression on her face in response to his words, an realized how truly in the dark she had been. She stared at him, oblivious to the supportive hand Suki had placed on her arm, and he saw the wrath collapse in her blue gaze.

"What do you mean?" the word was full of coupled fear and guilt.

And that was when Sokka knew he had missed something.

**_Break_**

"Breathe. Breathe, Smellerbee."

Smellerbee let out a halted gasp of pain that sounded vaguely like Longshot's name, the lines of red smeared on her pale face, eyes shut tight and tearing.

Longshot kept his hold on her, arms wrapped tight around her chest, pinning her arms into her breast so she could not struggle. Her back pressed in to him and he could feel her shake and shudder beneath the waves of agony, short, tussled brown hair flowing over his shoulder as she arched and half-buried her face into the torn fabric of his shirt.

"She can't make it over the Ford like this," Vica said it emotionlessly. Iroh ripped bandage between his teeth, crouched before the captive SmellerBee, a broken plank of wood lying in the mud beside him. The rain was coming down in torrents, but they had taken temporary refuge under the rubble of a half-burned stable. The roof was partly caved in and scorched, an eerie reminder of a losing battle fought not minutes ago between brothers, a few dead bodies lying in the ruin. The scent of dead flesh covered with the scent of mud and hay and horse shit.

Smellerbee, strong and defiant Smellerbee, did not even attempt to hide her tears. Her skirt was torn unceremoniously down one side, to reveal her twisted right leg, white and ghostly and unnatural against the dark mud beneath her. A bone below the knee had been displaced, and though it had not pierced the flesh, little rivets of blood were running down her clammy white skin, the bone itself sticking out at an odd, irregular angle that was making Vica sick.

"He's going to set it back now, Smellerbee," Longshot's voice was low and cool in her ear. She let out a halted, surprised sob.

"God - !" Vica got the rag between her teeth just as Iroh took her bloodied leg and snapped it back into place with a high, sickening _crack_.

Smellerbee's scream was muted, but Longshot still felt it like a knife.

_Balda Haram_ was a ruin.

In the course of one night, the entire serf population had rioted and turned to the support of Azula. With the poor, crazed, blood-hungry crowds that made the nobles food and built their palaces and succumbed to their whips, she tore down the guard towers and the Estates. Farmers and house-servants became soldiers beneath her terrible guidance; the impoverished merchants and smiths took up their self-made hammers and rusted swords to revolt against the poverty and degredation; the criminals joined solely for the sake of the fight. If anyone other than Azula had been there to inspire them, it would have become a massive brawl, quickly overpowered by the swift, calculated efforts of the elite earthbenders and the few Dai Li that remained in the area. But with the cold strategy and effort of this demonic women, they had countered the attacks of the Dai Li.

Sent by the Governor or Hu Shin, the province in which _Balda Haram_ rested, the first wave of soldiers fell like weak rain beneath the onslaught of Azula's archers and firebenders and kamikaze criminals. Then she marched to the Governor's house, collecting reinforcements along her way and appointing Captains beneath Jet and Zhanu and Mai, setting up her systems of power within the army; then she took the Governor by his measly, pale throat and silenced the fear in his eyes.

Mai had already proven to be a swiftly effective General. Soon after their defeat of the Governor's troops, she took to carrying blades up her sleeves (a fashion reminiscent, vaguely, of the Shifters of the Desert, of which she had read of in fable-books). Soon after Azula had murderered the Governor, and strode his house with head in hand (it became common of her army to post the heads of slughtered nobles along the roadside) the man's impulsive son took it upon himself to attempt and silence the firebender right then and there. He fell with a four-inch blade in his throat and a look of disgust on Mai's typically emotionless features.

Mai was then Azula's first General, nowhere near as fear-inspiring as the ever-present, mindless terror that was Jet, nor the collected devilry that was Azula, but terrible nonetheless. In silence and apathy she would wallow through the course of the war, until she was finally awaken to her own bitter and backwards existence, compliments of a man without fear.

Zhanu's eyes were ever on Mai, but despite this he kept his ends. He alone maintained a rather sane demeanour, and thoguh he did not possess the dangerous charm of Azula, he was still of a cunning nature, and was able to persuade his way into victim's houses a long way down the road. Yet his only reason for the war was for Mai, his prize, his trophy of sorts, who he adored more and more as each moment of silence and disinterest passed, waiting for the moment he could finally force feeling into her - pain, pleasure, terror.

But Jet was no General. He was the Dagger on Azula's hip, and even from the beginning the people knew it, innately, inexplicably. And he was the one who oversaw each battle, who ensured their victories.

_Balda Haram_ had been taken and destroyed and left to rot. The Hu Shin province had lost its officials of the Chosen King, and was proclaimed under the rule of the Father of All, the Pheonix Lord.

Ozai followed after his daughter's path of destruction proudly, slowly. He knew she would not fail him.

"Longshot..." Smellerbee's leg, broken harshly by one of Azula's men as they tried to escape the city, was now crunched into a splint.

"We have to make the Ford," Longshot's voice was barely even as he lifted the small, weeping woman into his arms. The Hu Shin province was on fire, and already they could hear the distant screams of the leftover troops, told to wait and protect the province in case of another attack. All criminals and rioters, raiding and burning everything in their path.

"She can't cross with that leg - !"

"Then I will carry her!" Longshot roared back at Vica, Smellerbee too far gone with pain to notice anything. It was the first time anyone had heard Longshot yell.

"No, Longshot. Come with me. I know another place to take her," Iroh gestured out into the muddy street, stepping over the shattered body of an earthbender. Their bodies had been left to rot in the abandoned ruins, unimportant to Azula's plans, miles from anyone who would mourn them.

"Where?" Smellerbee's head lolled faintly against Longshot's shoulder, and she fainted. Longshot felt fear rush through him like a poison.

"It is a way to Epharim, near the sea. If we are lucky, there will be word there from a friend of mine. But we must not be seen!"

Longshot asked no questions. He followed the old man like he was a saint, or a spirit. Smellerbee was dead weight in his arms.

_**Break**_

"Hey Aang. How you doing?"

Aang straightened up immediately, but upon seeing Zuko and Toph, he relaxed exasperatedly. He had slid, using all the stealth he could muster in his entire airbending frame, into some shadowed corner where there a few old, decrepit, hard-of-hearing noblemen were sitting in uncomfortable silences. He stood there behind them all, pretending to be far too overly occupied with the front of his robe, and already his worrying the fabric had caused a thread to come loose.

"Uh...I'm doing very well, Sa'."

"Heh...it's _sir_, Aang," Zuko grinned. "You gotta say the 'r'."

"Oh, damn tha'. Takes less time ta' say it without no 'r' an' e'eryone knows it."

Zuko had to stifle a laugh at the airbender's ill humor, but Toph laughed outright. Aang's face lit up at her recognition of him, but the Avatar could get no use of his tongue, and simply rubbed the back of his neck for a moment as the conversation died and again became uncomfortable silence. Toph had a lingering smile on her face that probably would have encouraged Aang, had he been able to see it through the veil; instead, he attempted a weak start to a conversation, a little too stunned and bewildered still by Toph's not-very-unexpected beauty.

"You... you likin' the feast, Toph?" he asked, quietly.

"Honestly?" Toph stepped aside from Zuko's arm, and sat down in a free chair beside where the airbender was standing. "No. I've always hated these kinds of things."

"Praise th' Gods, fo'!" Aang exclaimed under his breathe, and immediately plopped down beside the earthbender. "Was 'fraid I was the only one. All them people makin' talk, an' none of it means nothin'. I 'aven't open'd me mouth all nigh'! Is righ' crazy, it all!"

"Ha! You should've seen some of the parties Fong threw. He'd parade our sisters around and keep Katara and I at the end of the line. We'd just sit there and make up stories about all the foreign nobles in the room."

"Make up stories? Like wha'?"

"Well..." Toph crossed her legs and straightened up, and Zuko saw Aang's eyes descend, against his will, down the side of her neck and body. He corrected himself almost immediately, but Zuko grinned, knowing Toph could probably hear his heart beat faster. "Like that guy, over there. The one with the mustache."

She pointed towards a man stroking two long lines of hair on either side of his lip, and then leaned over and whispered into the blushing, trying-so-hard-to-restrain-himself-from-saying-something-stupid-he'd-probably-turn-blue-in-the-face Avatar:

"He's totally overcompensating," Aang pulled nervously on his collar, red as a tomato.

"Heh... really? All 'cause of a 'stache?"

"Men with mustaches are always overcompensating. Real men either have beards, or they're clean-shaven."

"Heh...you know," Aang put his arm awkwardly on the back of Toph's chair, knowing she was listening even though her blind eyes were not fixed on him. "I 'aven't got hair at all - well, no, I do, I jus' - wha' I mean is, I shave all ma 'ead, and face too - uh..."

Zuko probably would have leapt in to save Aang at this point, as this was what the fellow man in him was ordering him to do, but at that moment there was a pull on his arm to distract him from Aang's failed flirting attempts.

"Zuko... can I talk to you?"

Zuko looked at Katara without remorse or compassion. In fact, the golden glaze of his eyes was so filmed with surpressed pain and rage that Katara quailed a little and released her grip on his arm. Yet the soft surrender in her voice, so contrary to the harsh criticism and vice that had become her a moment ago, caught the fierbender off guard. Deciding at once that this must be some new trick of hers, he bowed stiffly towards her gorgeous frame.

"I'd never deny it to my lady," Zuko did not mean it as mockingly harsh as it came out, and when he saw the hurt look in his eyes he felt dirty and cowardly, despite his justified anger.

She took him aside, a little ways from Aang and Toph, who ahrdly noticed their departure; Aang was still making vague, nervous attempts at complimenting Toph, in between nuggets of laughter and smiles and snippets of conversation. Zuko did his best to keep himself composed, which only ended in him looking uncomfortable. He was having a difficult time sorting between his awe of her presence and his remembrance of her injustuce, and as a result locked off the emotions altogether, so as they wouldn't persuade him either way.

"What is it, then?" his voice was less unforgiving than it had been, but not anywhere near encouraging. Katara was looking down, and Zuko could see a little more or her nose as the veil slid down, and perhaps the line of her dark cheek if he looked closer. He dare not, for fear she would look up and see him staring; but at the same time he was keenly aware of the long curve of her black lashes, the wisps of free hair beneath the _dupatta_. He hated himself for thinking of such things at this point, and re-fueled his anger just in time for her to look up and speak:

"I'm sorry," she had an earth-shattering look in her endless blue eyes, like she was about to cry. "Sokka told me. About - about what Long Feng told you to do. About what you did for us. I'm so -"

"All eyes to the Emperor! Grand Emperor of Masabi, and the lands of the East!"

Zuko probably would have killed that fucking herald if he'd known, fully, what Katara was about to say.

Long Feng stood in a slow, dignified manner that made everything inside Zuko crawl with disdain. It was only then that he realized how truly, how completely he hated the wretched, paranoid, all-seeing Emperor of Masabi.

Long Feng's smile was a herald of doom. Zuko glanced uncertainly at Katara before the Emperor began to speak, but Katara was staring fixedly at Long Feng in a distant, fearful way. Toph stood up sowly beside Aang, who followed suit blindly.

"As is custom, I would take a dance with my first wife now," he looked lovingly at the woman with the golden tresses beside him, and a mumur of jealousy went through the 131 women form Acchai assembled behind him. "But I would like to try something different. A little change in pace."

And then his eyes descended in a horrible, hungry way on Katara, and Zuko felt flame flicker, unintended, between his fingers.

"Two daughters of the Lord Fong reside here with us tonight, newly married to their own husband. I have long heard tales of their beauty and grace, and am eager to witness it. A dance from them - a dance from Acchai! Will they grace us?"

The crowds began to clap slowly, and then to cheer, following the gestures of the Emperor. Toph and Katara looked wildly at one another, for the question was not a question at all. The Emperor had suggested it and now they had no choice in the matter.

Toph came forth hesitantly, but before she could grab her sister, the waterbender cast Zuko an immediate, desperate sort of look, that quenched even his angry fires, and made him believe she meant her apology.

Then Katara was turned back towards the Emperor, a small blue gem beneath the suffocating golden air of the hall, the tusks of ivory looming overhead like cruel demons, the sabre-tooth moose lion glaring emptily. The eyes of Long Feng like twin daggers.

"My great Emperor, we would love to dance for you," it was incedibly brave, for Katara to even dare address the Emperor. "Yet... we do not wish to offend you. our dances are very personal amongst the women. We involve bending within them. If it is undignified for a women to bend in your presence -"

"Bring the woman water!" shouted Long Feng impatiently. Whereas in Al-Abhad, and any bending beside healing was forbidden, here in Masabi the Emperor had his own rules. He could ask anything of anyone. He was the Golden Hawk. He was the Lord of the East.

Two great buckets of water were brought, and spilled all across the dance floor at Katara's hesitant orders. Toph told the band what manner of music to play, and afterward reached out and searched for her sister's hand in a small, encouraging way. They were both shaking as they removed their saris, and everyone (including the Emperor) recieved a full view of their smooth, barren torsos and sweeping arms, to their shame. As they walked onto the floor, slippery and cold with water, they cast each other one last glance as the band began to thump their hollow drums, strum their golden lutes.

Then Toph and Katara were back-to-back, and the pace of the music was starting to rise. Drums rang. Someone blew into a pipe.

"Just pretend we're in the gardens at Al-Abhad," Toph breathed. "Just pretend."

Katara closed her eyes and pretended there was grass beneath her feet. Then, slowly, she began to thump her heel against the floor.

The knot in Zuko's chest tightened stubbornly, arms crossed and glancing hesitantly around him. Unwillingly, he returned to look at her perfect form, realizing that everyone else in the room was doing the same.

In a moment, he knew he still wanted to keep the injustice bottled up inside him. He wanted to stay furious at her.

But she had just cast Toph a bright, shining glance that Zuko knew meant she was smiling. With each subtle movement of her frame she betrayed excitement and joy; how long had it been, really, since she'd had the chance to dance like this with her sister? Beneath the degrading eyes of Lord Fong and the hatred of her other sisters, she had seen no true love, save for the care of her brother; and her betrothal to Long Feng, the perils of the Desert, her punishment in the lowest palace-service - how heavily had it all weighed on her?

Zuko suddenly found himself wondering if Toph was right - if he was really the only reason Katara was angry. The stress of living, even two days, beneath Long Feng's eyes must have been unendurable - and without much explanation of Zuko's actions, she could only assume the worst, for what else was a woman of Acchai to assume, being raised in the deceit of the war-lands?

And then, wildly, uncharacteristically, Zuko wondered if she was also mad because...because he had treated her wrongfully, after their shared time in the Library. He could still remember that week vividly: the feeling of her weight against him as he silently trimmed her hair, the glow of her pink lips beneath a thousand falling stars, the longing in her eyes as she stared up at him, terrified but submissive.

_Maybe here, in Acchai, you will begin to see things clearer than before._

Mai had never been kind to him. She had used him for her own vanity, had never considered him above his criminal rank. But Katara had show him kindness, had shared his stories, had given him respect. She said he was stronger. And she had _felt _something... just as he had felt something, inexplicable, spiritual, undeniable.

Did it all really mean nothing now?

The music began to turn, slow and sweet and seductive.

Toph's hands began to twirl at the wrists, blind eyes half closed, stable as her sister began to move beside her. Katara's hips started to sway, then swing, then move in slow circles as she bought her hands above her head and began to move her fingers, causing the water beneath her feet to ripple.

Zuko tried not to stare at the smooth, independent movement of her hips, nor the slow curve of her back as she bent into a perfect arc, hands sliding out above her gently rounded breasts. Tried not to remember the warmth of her skin, her eyes beneath the pale moon.Toph swayed and joined her sister in the movement, their bodies reflecting each other, further reflected in the surface of the water.

All eyes were on them now. The two gorgeous women in the center of the room, swaying like passion-filled goddesses, begging for love.

Zuko swore, just before the music hit, Katara's eyes rose and landed directly on him, her hand sliding up her hip.

Then the drums hit, and Toph sprang up beside her sister, whirling suddenly like a freshly-spun top. The music became an abrupt cry of excitement, and Toph's feet moved like she danced on hot coals. The ground trembled distantly beneath them, making the water jump and ripple; Katara had joined her sister in a series of free movement, legs flying high into the air, backs arched, arms whirling like banners in a heated, repetitive tempo. At one point they clasped hands, and then Toph slid down to the earth, regardless of the flying of her dress, Katara flipping her back into the air by a shudder in the water, whereupon a low _boom_ sounded through the ground as the earthbender landed. The movement was collected and wild all at once; Katara and Toph would go from being mere reflections of each other to wildly independent, mixing their bending practices with leaps and flips across one another, touching their wrists together before spining off onto their hands, feet free in the air, skirts falling for just a moment to show the tips of their trousers. They were nymphs, muses, unearthly forces on the golden floor, soaked in water and their sweet sweat.

Everyone was clapping now, even the new, jealous wives from Al-Abhad, even their three pig-faced sisters (in only half-heartedly). Even Zuko, eyes fixed wide and staring on Katara's whirling frame, beautiful and wild as the water splashed up beneath her feet.

The climax came when Katara and Toph both paused, and the song froze; then they were spinning, fast as tops, dresses spinning parallel to the earth below them, arms flying free; then they leapt, made two splendid arcs in midair, and slammed their feet onto the earth.

A thousand drops of water sprang up, cracked, froze in midair and hung there, glittering, around Katara's spinning, outstretched palms. Beneath the gleaming lights of a thousand floating ice droplets Toph danced beside her sister, let out a high, ecstatic note, and the ground shook.

The nobles erupted, and Zuko found himself shouting, begging more. Katara spun, and the thousand ice-crystals spun around her - but Zuko saw her clearly through the whirling glitter, dark hair streaming behind her like a banner, blue eyes shining and elated.

The drums were roaring incessantly, the screaming like an orchestra. And then Toph was in the air, a mad spirit within the glow of the ice-crystals, and then there was the tremor through the ground that unseated a good many people, and Katara and Toph on their knees, chests pointing towards heaven, foreheads slick with sweat.

Zuko was so full of desperate, carnal fire he thought he would erupt. Long Feng was clapping, but the firebender was too far gone to even notice his rage towards the Emperor. Only Aang seemed to get his level head back before anyone else, and this was after a long, jaw-hanging moment of staring at Toph, hungrily remembering ever detail of her small body.

"Th' - The Emper'r's out soon, Zuko - I gotta', I mean - tell Toph - tell _Sokka_ I'm goin'. Goin'...somewhere. "

Zuko hardly heard the airbender. Katara was walking towards him, still adrenaline-pumped from the dance, and he was reveling in the fact that she was so easily ignoring all the praises and dance invitations around her in a blind effort to reach him.

"May we talk, now?" she was flushed and out of breathe, and he was resisting the desire to tear off her veil and kiss her, feel her, ravish her.

"...Yes. Of course."

_**Break**_

Suki had watched the dance avidly, swaying her own hips to the beat, letting out her own ecstatic cries. It made Sokka sweat, and finally he retreated onto the side balcony just before the dance ended, unable to stand much more.

He was having a hard time discerning what her motives were regarding him, and an even harder time keeping his eyes off of her. When he tried to stop staring at her thighs, he moved to stare at the solid curve of her ass, which only worsened everything, and when he migrated to her breasts he felt so cheap he tried to redeem it by staring at her face, which was possibly the most gorgeous, deceptive thing about her. But then she just asked why he was staring at her, and then he ended up looking at his feet.

"What are you doing out here?"

As soon as Sokka left, Suki had been onset by numerous men, and it annoyed her so badly that she was just close enough to killing them all (before she realized how much attention that would draw to herself). So she, too, retired to the balcony, unaware that the whole reason for Sokka leaving was because he was unable to handle being in the same room with her. At least, not without doing something unforgivable.

"You're missing all the fun, you know," she said it half sarcastically, leaning a little on the railing and nudging him in the side with her hip. One wonderful, full, mind-numbing hip.

Sokka didn't know why he did it, but he slid his arms around Suki's waist, suddenly, instinctively. She seemed to shudder as she felt his touch, but other than this showed no sign to encourage or discourage him. Sokka was practically drunk with the idea of her, the sight of her half-naked frame, and wasn't thinking all too clearly.

"You're fun," his words were coy, almost playful. She felt her heartbeat quicken.

"...You..." but something was bothering her, incessantly, in the back of her mind, and she tried desperately to change the direction the conversation could lead (and/or, where Sokka wanted it to go). "You're sisters are very good. Did you watch them?"

"You're the only one I want to be looking at right now," his words were intensely honest. She felt his arms tighten around her, subtly, his lips near her neck.

Suki reacted instantly and viciously. Her slap came like lightning across Sokka's face.

"OW! Holy _hell_, woman -"

"You - you owe me an apology," snapped Suki, tearing herself out of his arms, but still she seemed unsure of herself. Sokka rubbed his reddened cheek, mouth agape with shock.

"What? I didn't - I - what?" Sokka stood in awe and anger at her words.

"For - for those roaming eyes of yours!"

"Excuse me?"

"Ever since the jungle! You've been making eyes at me! And you were just trying to - to _feel_ me."

"I - I, well - well then why didn't you say something before, then?"

Suki looked a little put-off by this question.

"You - that's not the point!" but Sokka knew he had heard.

"No! Yes it is! Why did you wait til _now_ to say something?"

"That's_ not the point_!"

"Why -" perplexed and infuriated at her change in pace, he erupted. "Why are you being so _difficult_ all of a sudden?"

"Because I don't want the _isangoma_ to be right!" Suki said it before she could stop herself, and Sokka did another double-take.

"..._What?_"

And then Suki lost her composure, relinquished the warrior's guard she had grown up with, and gave in to the fact that she was madly intrigued by this bumbling, proud, admirable, clumsy, princely, foolhardy and all-contradicting specimen of a man.

"Oh - Oh _forget it_!"

She took his hand, and then she was off, practically dragging him away from the feast, through doors and halls and courtyards, past bewildered guards who dare not stop her for the gathered determination in her gaze. The YuYan archers, lazier at night but nonetheless vigilant, looked after the pair interestingly and then grumbled bets among themselves about _who_ was taking_ who_ to be that night. Suki knew they all saw her and the Prince, but she didn't care. She kept a firm grip on Sokka's hand and took him straight to the women's quarters, against all code and conduct, and after a few second of passing flower-coated rooms and smelling bath powder and perfume, Sokka realized it. Suki stormed into the first room on the right just in time to hear the Prince exclaim, horrified:

"Suki, where the hell - ?"

He was interrupted by her smooth, red lips capturing his, the feeling of a swift and unexpected kiss.

I lasted only a second, and then he was looking down at her incredulously, unable to feel the rush of adrenaline and lust before she said:

"You've done nothing but stare at me from the moment I took off my mask," she interrupted, and her face was flushed, eyes full of desire, staring up at him desperately. "...Why?"

Sokka stared at her, wide-eyed and abruptly alert. He realized she had pressed herself into him and her meaning was written clearly in the green fire of her eyes.

Now, Sokka was not a virgin. This was not due to any arrogance or womanizing on his part, as much as it was due to pure accident. Men of Acchai, being held away for so long in the varying wars and confrontations of their Lords, could not always take the time to court and marry a woman when the natural desire came upon them - and the natural desire was strong in men of Acchai. For this reason, many of the small towns scattered throughout the war-lands had a house on their outer edge, where women in red serviced soldiers for gold; not whores, but businesswomen who saw a need and fulfilled it at good price. And it was for this reason that, when Sokka was sixteen and still beneath intense tutorship of Jeong-Jeong, he followed some soldiers naively into such a house at such a town, and it was for this reason Sokka was not a virgin.

But this was no scuffle with business-whores, so much as it was coupled admiration and desire and spiritual chemistry, and in Suki's green eyes he saw a fate that he could not deny, not even with the danger of their situation that night.

"Because you're the wildest, most infuriating, most beautiful woman on the face of the earth, Suki."

She laughed, and he kissed her again, grinning, aroused, hands grasping desperately at her thighs beneath the dress. Just as she smiled and seemed about to speak, relieved, he captured her lips and gathered her up to him, stumbling back into a desk covered in hairbrushes and perfumes.

The uncoordinated dance took them all about the room, Suki tearing off his robe between varying degrees of kissing, Sokka sliding his hands blindly, hungrily across her body, sucking the skin at her neck and undoing her tied hair. It fell like a veil across them both and Sokka lifted her up by her thighs so she could straddle him, the pair still stumbling, unbalanced, until Sokka got her against a wall. They were there for a second, Sokka bare-chested with a hand already exploring her firm breast, Suki moving her hips against him, until the Kyoshi-Shaman threw her weight onto the Prince and Sokka staggered back, falling backwards onto the bed.

He tried to rip off her dress and pull her hips back into him, but she had stood, leaving him abandoned on the bed. Propped up on his elbows, hair askew from its ponytail, pants slightly undone, and looking effectively disheveled, Sokka looked desperately after Suki, wondering why she was torturing him so.

Suki unclasped her ties and let the dress slip off uselessly, and rewarded with the sight of her naked, golden body, Sokka's mind effectively flew out the window.

_**Break**_

"You were...very good. Dancing, I mean."

Zuko led Katara out onto the balcony. Had they known what had taken place several minutes previous on this balcony (and what was going on now behind closed doors) they both probably would have vomited.

"...Thank you," Katara's voice was low. She had put her sari back on, but it made little difference, as translucent as it was. Zuko took a step away from her for a moment, to give her space to do as she wished. She crossed the balcony and sat on available bench bordering the overlook, the expanse of the south garden stretching on below, full of palm trees and fresh-blooming flowers. She seemed as much a goddess now as she had on the dance floor, bordered by the colored trees in the faint dark, clothed with the scent of sweet fruits.

Zuko sat beside her hesitantly, but not because he didn't _want_ to sit next to her - in fact at the moment he was trying his hardest to think up something smart or encouraging to say, to get her back into a good humor. He even thought about being romantically persuasive, but there was no way in the world he could manage that, and he wasn't about to let his lower order of things influence the next few moments. At least that's what he told himself.

"Zuko - I'm so sorry," Katara began, but Zuko immediately tried to wave it away.

"It's alright. You didn't know -"

"No, I didn't want to know. I didn't let you explain. I was being a hard-headed fool...and I called you all those horrible things..."

"Well...I said horrible things too. I should've -"

"No," something in the way she said it made Zuko stop and look at her, eyes wide and regretful in the moonlight. "You shouldn't have had to do anything. You protected me... and Toph. Just as you did in the caravan. Just as you have always done, so long as I have known you."

She turned her face away from him, but he could still see the waver of shame in her eyes, and it made him feel worse than being beaten on the Rope Walk. She really was sorry. She really was in pain, tortured with the idea of how she treated him. She really did care. It made his head light.

"It's ok, really Katara, please. I know what it's like -" then he stopped.

_I hate you! Dad's gonna get arrested now! Go away! I hate you, get away! I hate you, Lu Ten!_

Crunch of breaking bone. Teeth shattered against the street. For a moment, Zuko was gone.

"Zuko?"

Her voice brought him back immediately. He restrained a shudder from the memory, from the rush of guilt and despair.

"I know what it's like... to say something when you're angry. When you don't mean it. And to never get the chance to apologize."

Katara looked at him kindly, which didn't do wonders for Zuko's already befuddled sense of things, and his growing infatuation with her. He no longer even thought about comparing her to Mai; Katara surpassed her in all things regarding compassion and care, and the fact that the waterbender was showing such respect and regard for him was making everything that much more difficult. She didn't press into what he meant, which made him all the more grateful; he was ashamed of those last few words to Lu Ten, before he sought out his cousin to apologize, and found him half-beaten in the gutter. His father standing there, watching, wordless.

"...I still wish I could take it all back," somehow Katara was closer to him than before, and Zuko had to clear his throat before speaking.

"Well... we could always start over. Go back to the Library. I could take the Rope Walk and we could fight Wan Shi Tong and you could heal me up again."

"Don't even say that!" Katara exclaimed, and he felt her hand squeeze his arm. "You nearly died!"

"Well, I mean," Zuko grinned nonchalantly, shrugged teasingly. "If that's what it takes to get you to act civil -"

"You _wretch _-!"

Katara made a false slap at Zuko's shoulder, who caught it and gave a low laugh. She couldn't fully brin herself to actually hit him, knowing he was joking, but at the same time she made an obvious display of annoyance in his direction, - and therein ensued another fake tussle of power, as Zuko poked her side in a tickling way and upset her enough truly smack him lightly in the arm.

Then she was craddled in the nook of his shoulder, neither of them really knowing how they got there, neither wanting to leave.

Aang would have rather been with Toph at that moment (the earthbender was lingering at the shoulder of Song, who was replenshing the serving tables and staying back in the shadows to talk with her) but, unlike Sokka and Zuko, was sticking to the plan to the exact detail, and as soon as Long Feng left the ballroom he'd knocked over a punch table and slipped in after the Emperor.

Whether by some swiftness and silence he possessed as an airbender, or because the spirits smiled on him, he managed to haunt the Emperor's footsteps all the way to his dressing room, leaping into the nooks of the ceiling or slinking behind vases everytime a pair of patrolling soldiers walked by.

He waited until Long Feng fully entered the dressing room, letting the door click shut. Sokka had told him to make sure the Emperor was alone before he attempted to speak to him, as any witnesses would spell disaster for their plan. The Emperor would not let it be known that he had allowed and airbender to look upon the face of the Golden Hawk.

So Aang pressed his eye to the keyhole first, to make sure no concubines or new wives were there to entertain the Emperor before the second half of the feast. He had to wait a long time for his eye to adjust to the light, and even longer to hear the words of the Emperor, standing in the shadows on the far side of the room, raising his feast robes to get a good, long look.

"...have him poorly disguised as some visiting noble. He's in dark green with a gold sash."

"When can I take him?"the second voice was cold, feminine, devilish.

"You can pick him off near the end, when we set the fireworks off. It won't be difficult for you, I'm sure."

The blood ran abruptly out of Aang's face as and he stared, pale and cold, at the feminine, crimson-cloaked figure beside the Emperor.

"Do they have wedding parties like this in the Union?" Zuko was so focused on Katara that he had completely forgotten the time, Sokka waiting impatiently in the wings, Aang crouched before the keyhole.

"Not as extravagant as all this," Zuko mused, then added: "Well... they might at court, with the King - but I've never been there. I went to a dance, once, but it was because..."

Zuko remembered that day suddenly, vividly, painfully. He had saved every dime of his pay, had worked hours in a blacksmiths and polished shoes for weeks, all the pay off an informant for a skinned invitation to a Niraj Estate Ball. Mai had not invited him, had never invited him to any of her families gatherings - for since the death of Lu Ten, and the betrayal of Ozai, they had lost trust in the family. Nevertheless he had fought and worked and struggled into getting that invitation, only to walk in and have Mai give him one brief, disdainful, pleased look, and notice emotionlessly that she did not remember inviting him. A few men dragged Zuko outside and tore up his invitation, immediately revealing it as a fake: then they beat him soundly and he spent the night at the bar nursing a swollen eye and drinking himself into a stupor.

"...Because of Mai?" there was something in her tone that suggested she did not like the mention of the other women's name. It made Zuko wonder if it was because...because Katara did not _want_ him thinking about another woman. And how could he? Didn't Katara realize she was the most beautiful, entrancing woman on the entire face of the good earth?

"Shit - oh _shit_ -" Aang retreated instantly from the doorway and stumbled back up the hall, trying all the while to keep his feet quiet against the carpet. But as he reached the side-entrance hall back into the ballroom, he heard the muffled _clink_ of armor coming down the way. Skidding abruptly, the airbender turned from the sound of approaching soldiers and ran back the way he had come, only to see the door-handle of the Emperor's dressing room begin to turn.

Panicked and trapped, Aang looked wildly about for a place to hide. Vases lined either side of the hall, intricate massive ones crafted in the fashion of the East, and desperately Aang tried to hide himself behind one, though the space was confined, and he couldn't manage to get both his feet all the way behind. The door to the Emperor's room swung open, and a long shadow poured out onto the carpet.

"Come on, Zuko..." Aang pressed himself as far down and as heavily against the wall as he could, knowing he could not fully shield himself behind the vase - but maybe, if the Emperor didn't look this way, and he positioned himself in the shadows just right...

His heart froze. The woman in the crimson cape drifted slowly into the hall, silent and ghostly beneath the torchlight.

"...Did you mean what you said?" Katara said it in a whisper, small hands folded on her lap. "I mean...back at the Library. About Mai."

"...Yeah," Zuko felt the soft fabric of her sari. Remembered the perfection of her smooth stomach, her sweet dark limbs, as she twirled and danced bewteen flashes of crystal and ice.

"I also meant what I said about you."

Katara remained still for a moment, as his fingers fiddled nervously with the edge of her sari. Then, slowly, as though time itself was pausing in its endless stride, he felt her head move against his shoulder, and she turned her dark, veiled face up towards him. He looked down at her involuntarily, eyes brilliant with the reflection of the moon, settled so willingly into his arms.

Zuko's heart thumped loudly in his chest, in perfect time with the fearful beating of Aang's.

The woman in the crimson cape glided past him, seeming to miss him in the shadows. Aang made himself as small as he possibly could, crouched there behind the vase, not even daring to breathe for the fear that strangled him. She continued down the hall for another hair's breathe, still seemingly unaware of him, until Aang began to believe he was out of danger.

And just before the hall curved away to the right, she stopped.

For some reason, all Aang could think of, was how much he wanted to be with Toph.

"You don't want me anymore," Katara said it softly, as though he almost didn't want him to hear her. "...Not after how I treated you."

"Yes... I do. Katara..."

Zuko couldn't speak. The sight of her was invading his head, making everything light and clouded and disoriented in the most exhilarating, terrifying way. Katara's hand rose from her lap and he felt her grab, faintly, onto the front of his robes, and the fire exploded in his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

The woman in red spun and, had Aang been crouched just a little closer to the vase, the jagged dagger she threw would have torn through his knees.

The alarm sounded. The YuYan archers took arrows to their strings.


	32. The Wounded Bison

BTW:

Zutara strong baby. No matter what the world says.

**_Break_**

Katara had undone the veil. His eyes were still closed, but he knew it anyway. She had undone the veil, and her fingers were tightening on the front of his robe, and his arm had slide down to wrap around her. He leaned down, and she came up, both hesitant and all too willing. Her crimson lips brushed his, lighter than a feather, almost imperceptible.

Zuko opened eyes just enough to see her. He wanted so desperately to see her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the body fly through the ballroom.

"_Fuck_!"

Zuko slammed Katara against him and rolled them both out of the way, as the limp form of the Emperor's guard smashed through the balcony windows, head cracking open as he hit the railing of the ledge and toppled backwards over the edge. The sick crunch of a dead body hitting ground, two stories below.

"Oh, shit -"

Suki tumbled off Sokka as screams arose from the ballroom, but Sokka (a bit overindulged in the moment, understandably) merely grabbed at her blindly, even half rolled over to follow her. She had just turned his world upside down in the most fantastic, existential way, and he wasn't about to so easily give up the situation, not matter who was screaming in the ballroom.

"S-Suki - wait -"

"Get your clothes on! Can't you hear that?" Suki slid her trousers on in a rush, hiding her curves from the rather unhappy Prince, and trying to remember where she'd left her machete.

Sokka heard the terror outside, but only groaned, until Suki threw his clothes at him and he gave a muffled curse into the fabric. He was dressing unwillingly, grumbling like a freshly-woken child, when a shuddering, continuous ripping sound tore through the air and a jagged rock-spike suddenly split the right-hand wall in two.

_"Holy fuck!_" Sokka roared and tumbled to the floor amidst dust and debris, pants only half-on.

Aang had reacted instantly to Jun's dagger, and before the red-caped woman could fully draw her blade-tipped whip, he had rolled from beneath the shards of the vase and sent her flying back into a separate hall with one wild air-kick. Skidding from the scene, with a speed fueled by his airbending, he had to somersault mid-air to get past the pair of guards in the doorway to the ballroom. the guards tried to capture him between two slabs of rock torn from the walls, but Aang was too quick; by the time they were half-way through the earthbending movement, he was already behind them, twisting the rug up underneath their feet so that they toppled back, yelling hoarsely. Aang efficiently silenced them by throwing one up into the ceiling with one powerful gust, and sending the other flying through the ballroom and out onto the balcony.

Toph (who had better hearing than most) and Long Feng (who was incurably paranoid anyway) heard and recognized the commotion before anyone. Long Feng reacted by running blindly from his room, half-dressed and yelling for his archers; Toph reacted by ripping up the earth beneath all the banquet tables and sending the guests into a state of immediate horror.

"Party's over! Get out!" Toph yelled it as Aang came skidding into the ballroom. Now, Toph could not see the Emperor coming in behind the Avatar, but she could feel his presence there, like the coming of a dark storm-cloud, and she panicked.

"Aang! _Move_!"

Aang obeyed her instantly, rolling to the side and feeling the rush of air as the jagged-edged rock flew inches by his shoulder and exploded into a cloud of golden-dusted debris before the Emperor. Still in bending position, Long Feng glared hellfire at the blind girl, and then turned to cast his eyes on Aang, who's hat had fallen off to fully reveal his brilliant arrow tattoo.

All bets were off now. Toph had attacked the Emperor.

"Take the airbender!" Long Feng's words were a death sentence.

Zuko and Katara stumbled into the ballroom just as the first wave of archers fired; they were aimed towards Aang, who was dodging them and bending them away with every muscle in his body, twisting between red feather-tips like a mad cat. Toph was currently engaged in her own duel, fighting head-to head with a severely infuriated Emperor, who had just conquered another one of her attacks.

Zuko and Katara cast one glance to each other and that was it. It was all they needed.

Zuko broke eye contact first, springing upon an overturned banquet table. Leaping wildly towards the roof, he caught the slick frame of a high ballroom window, where the YuYan archers were firing at Aang. Before the specific archer above him could fully turn and send an arrow into his gut, Zuko had swung his feet up before him and sent a massive blast of red-white fire into his painted face. As he moved on to the next archer, he left one hand aflame so that the roof was captured suddenly in brilliant yellow tongues of fire.

Katara sped to the defense of her sister, who was practically dancing to avoid the Emperor's attacks. Onset by a sudden volley of ice shards, created from the leftover water on the floor, the Emperor fell into defensive mode, casting a stone wall before him. Realizing he needed to formulate a concrete attack plan, he called for his archers to concentrate their attacks on the two sisters. The YuYan archers, however, had drifted into a serious offensive attack against the lone firebender working his way amongst their ranks. Zuko had taken out three so far, but all on blind luck and surprise; now he dived behind a pillar to avoid a rainfall of arrows and awaited some miraculous chance to escape again.

Sokka and Suki were his miracle; Sokka's bladed boomerang tore through a YuYan archer's neck and in a moment, the archers were again distracted. Suki climbed lightly up into the roof windows, far more nimble than Zuko, and another one fell to her bright machete.

"Come on, ass!" Suki took Zuko by his wrist and dove from the roof back into the ballroom, as a shower of arrows descended after them. They were ill-aimed, fired in anger, and though one skimmed Zuko's leg, it was hardly enough to concern him.

"Where in fuckin' hell was you both?" Aang screamed at Sokka and Zuko, but before either man could answer, Toph yelled, and then the ground tore up beside them, and they heard a hundreds arrows embedding themselves in golden-coated stone.

"We - we were," Sokka couldn't find words enough to describe his disheveled state, and then Katara was crying:

"Look out - !"

A woman in a red cape running in from the shadows behind, unknown existence to either side of the fight.

Katara practically ripped wine from cups and jars and spilled puddles on the floor to cast a great, crimson-red ice shield before them, a make-shift defense against Jun's blade-tipped whip. The whip, however, tore through Katara's ice like a knife through butter; in the second it took for Katara to gasp in shock, and for the ice-wine to melt back into liquid, the blade had sliced down the side of her ear, through her elaborate sari, and embedded itself into her shoulder.

She reacted like a wildcat, clawing blindly at the blade before Jun could pull the whip back and drag her to her death. With a horrible spurt of blood the swift, sharp metal was out of her shoulder, but she had crashed to her knees before the cultist, who was bringing her whip back around to grasp the waterbender's throat. Yet just as the whip cracked, and Zuko and Sokka cried out in unison, Katara threw out her uninjured arm, so the spilled wine cracked and froze beneath Jun's feet. The woman roared, slipped and fell - and then Aang slammed his heel into the ground, and the earth sprang up below her, flinging her into the air.

The fact that Aang had just earthbended did not escape anyone's notice, except Zuko's, who had fallen down beside a bloody Katara. She was ripping off her sari and niqab, her dark, caramel skin flushed to an abruptly pale hue that looked ghostlike beneath her deep brown hair.

There was little memory of the Avatar, here in Masabi, in the East - save that of lingering hatred, a misunderstood betrayal. Where once his spirit could walk the earth revered by every man, there was no respect in the world any longer for his being - except in those select few, protected from lies and judgements and altered memories. The Eastern tribes spoke of him as the herald of doom, as the sign of the coming of war and death upon the world; such were the lies passed, long ago by a serpent's tongue, until it became a nightmare and a myth and a child's tale. It was simply forbidden to speak of the Avatar, in the Union.

But the barbarians of Acchai spoke of him as though he were a savior, or the ghost of a savior; the white-eyed angel, messenger of every great god: Agni, La, Kong Qi, Chén; messenger and judge. The men of Acchai kept the Avatar in the deepest corner of their hearts, seeking through his being the escape from the war-lands and the unending strife, the constant sting of battle and blood and dust. The Avatar was the hope of Acchai, and the ruin of the East.

Long Feng had his eyes trained on Aang, as did just about every other soldier in the room; an airbender, earthbending. Five hundred years of war and conquest, of grandmother's whispering fool's tales in the dark, a slowly painted picture of a demon, eyes aglow with a thousand different lives.

"_The Avatar!_" Long Feng's face was red and wild with wrath.

Toph knew what was coming well before it happened, and in blind fear she bent a solid stone roof over all of their heads. Zuko was kneeling at Katara's side, ripping her sari between his teeth to make a bandage for her shoulder.

"All I need is some water..." Katara went light-headed briefly, putting a hand to her forehead and lolling into Zuko's shoulder. "Just some water..."

"Dammit! _Fuck! _What the hell are we gonna do?" Sokka roared it as Toph grimaced, and Aang stood up and began to bend with her, to try and keep the shield from collapsing. Zuko took Katara in his arms, searching with his eyes for some source of clean water. Her wound was about two inches deep and crooked, in need of immediate healing, else she would get an infection.

"Fuck. Katara, I'm sorry - _fu__ck_ -"

"Calm the fuck down, Sokka!" it was the worst thing Zuko could've said to the Prince.

"Fuck you! What happened to you and Aang, dumbass? Where the fuck were you pissin' off too?"

"It was your fucking plan! Where the hell were you?"

"Save it! We need to get out of here!" Toph roared, and the top of the earth dome smashed open.

For the span of a few seconds, the world was lost in various debris and flying shards of gold, ivory tusks collapsing to the floor. Earthbenders throwing stones wildly, arrows invisible through the rising dust of battle, flashes of fire and the glint of blades. Zuko was a hellfire in defense of Katara, who clutched numbly to her wounded shoulder; Suki became a shadow, as swift and accurate as Smellerbee but without the elation - and all the more dangerous for it. Her machete and Sokka's black blade whirled like twin streaks of lightning, flashing above the earthquake that was Toph and the hurricane of Aang. Horror and death and chaos, and the infuriated gaze of the Golden Hawk.

But this was a losing battle on their end and they knew it; Toph was just trying to smash out an exit at this point, but with the knowledge that Aang was the Avatar, their enemies seemed to reach extraordinary levels of determination. Suki, who had been weaving her way so fluidly and devastatingly amongst the earthbenders with her machete, was suddenly caught by her long hair and sent flying back several feet. She fought her way out of a stranglehold and sliced the throat of the offending man, but then there was a blow from a flying stone that sent her reeling towards the Golden Hawk, standing upon his ruined dais.

Suki rolled over just as the shadow of the boulder swept over her, as Long Feng's eyes glistened, hand aloft to guide the slab of stone above the Kyoshi-Shaman's frame. Sokka roared, practically tore a guard in half with his black sword in the effort to reach her.

Now, the teeth and bite of a spirit-beast is not the same as the teeth and bite of a mortal-beast. They do not cut and mutilate as men perceive the notion of cutting and mutilating; they do not leave a wound to heal or infect. The bite of a spirit-beast _takes_ from the mortal. Through flesh and bone and soul and spirit, they _take_.

Myobu's fangs were dripping red, but there was no blood on Long Feng's clothes. Only a ripped, empty hole in his shoulder, only a part of him missing.

_Follow me, now!_

No one hesitated as Myobu turned and fled, howling with such terrible, otherworldy rage that soldiers stopped in their tracks, dropped to their knees in horror. Zuko himself felt a rush of agony and fear flow through him at the sound; the Fox's cry like the very howls of hell, of endlessly tortured victims and the high, cruel laughter of red demons.

But it was the Emperor's cries that would give them nightmares. Collapsed to the floor, with part of him missing.

**_Break_**

"Iroh? Iroh!"

The port was swarmed with terrified commoners, detained from actually boarding ships or gathering onto the docks, slippery and unsure before the great dark expanse of the West Ocean. It was good for Iroh, though, as the confused and terrified crowds made the group that much more difficult to spot, and the passage far easier. Most of Azula's men were up near the large sea-boats, forcing captains to unload cargo, and passengers to abandon ship. Azula had taken this precaution, as by sea was the only way to reach the Union's haven on the Moon Isle - and the last thing she wanted was possible followers fleeing to the heart of the Union, scared by the prospect of war. Two great cargo ships, found riddled with spies sending information to the Union's officials, were set ablaze and drifting lightly out to see, horrible torches in the night gloom. The spies were swinging by their necks in a neighboring tree, cold and eerie in the red light of the burning ships.

"Quiet!" Iroh hushed it immediately to the shaggy-looking earthbender fighting his way towards him. "Quiet, Haru!"

Haru stopped, obeying the man's words through sheer respect. At one glance, the earthbender seemed an honest sort of man, because of the pure glitter in his eye - but he was not so clean-cut or trusting-looking otherwise. He had the beginnings of a beard on his chin and a permanent mustache, his skin dyed dark with dust more than sun, his green eyes shockingly bright beneath his raven-black hair. He had the dress of a carpenter or smith, or some sort of working man, though he seemed too well-muscled to be simply this. There was a sword at his side, but it was short and broad, and had not drawn the attention of any soldiers. What did draw attention was the huge, riveting tattoo of an earth spirit on his right arm: a red-haired woman, half in the form of an elm tree, who's name few still knew in this part of the world - a beautiful Tree-Daughter of Chén.

"The boats are swarmed with Azula's followers," Iroh began following Haru instantly, as he pushed his way through the bewildered crowd. "She has ordered not to allow anyone to leave port -"

"Is there any boat we _can_ take?" Iroh said it briskly, which seemed to put Haru off beat for a moment; the earthbeder had not yet realized the condition Smellerbee was in, nor even that Longshot and Vica were following the man. The earthbender bowed his head as they passed obscenely close to one of Azula's soldiers, recognizable by the patch of red flame he wore on his shirt, but they went unnoticed.

"The only thing we'd have a chance at sneaking out would be a life-boat, or a small rowing boat..."

Even as he said it, the crowd was thinning around them, and then they were in the grass beneath bowed, haunting trees; he was leading them down the side of a muddy embankment, shielded from the eyes of the soldiers by the row of brush at the edge of the sea. They met the edge of the water to see a small boat, hardly big enough for a small family, positioned behind several rows of reeds. A pudgy, bright-eyed man with a stomach round as Iroh's was standing in the boat, awaiting them silently in the dark.

"A row-boat?" Iroh said incredulously, slipping through the mud down the slope. "A _row-boat_? We will cross the sea in a _row -_"

"Hue here is a waterbender," said Haru impatiently, gesturing towards the man in the boat, who inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. Then the earthbender slid down knee-deep into the salty tide, to steady the boat for him to climb in. "He can make this boat go as fast as any grand ship -"

Haru stopped when he saw Iroh turn around to aid the three others behind him; a tall, shadowed-looking man carrying a small feminine figure in his arms, and the scruffy elder man behind them. He recognized none of them, of course - but he was not simple, and he soon realized that the woman was in a bad way, her leg limp and pale and bloody beneath her skirt, and that the man holding her was carrying her like a precious China Doll.

"What is happening? What have they done?" Haru looked wildly at Iroh, who was taking Smellerbee gently from Longshot. The woman stirred faintly as she left her lover's arms, but did not fully awaken, too numb and tired with pain.

"Everyone is endangered," Iroh answered Haru tensely. "Smellerbee has killed one of Azula's captains - the word has probably already reached her."

Between Haru and Hue, they got Smellerbee into the bed of the boat, positioned on a number of softer bags and blankets. Hue lifted her head so that it rested in the very front of the boat, which would be the most comfortably\e position for her. The waterbender turned out to be a very simple-minded, but very good man. As soon as Smellerbee was in the boat, feeling the splash of water against the sides, she stirred and woke, as though from some distant dream. Longshot stumbled down into the water towards her at the sight of her open eyes, but Hue gestured for him to remain calm.

"You lay your head there, miss. You lay your head there and I'll tell you a good story, 'bout a girl a lot like you..."

While Smellerbee was looking up blearily at a calm, smiling Hue (who was trying very hard to keep her enwrapped in a story about some famous female Freedom Fighter, and not on her severely damaged leg) Haru climbed back towards Iroh, who gesturing for Longshot and Vica to follow. Quickly, Vica and the earthbender began to untie the boat from the slick wooden stake they had fastened it to.

"How strong has she become?" there was fear in his words; Iroh heard it, and put a brief, comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Stronger than I expected. By the end of the week she will take Al Khamasin, and probably most of the Green River."

Haru stopped untying the boat long enough to cast a deeply disbelieving look at the aged firebender. When he saw no lie in the man's eyes, he went to finish untying the knotted rope, though there was a fierce tension in his startling green eyes.

"...Save us," he whispered it to Chén.

The plan was very simple at this point: Iroh and Vica were staying, to try and rally resistance within Azula's troops themselves, while Longshot bore the wounded Smellerbee to the safer haven of Haru and the other Freedom Fighters. Before Smellerbee had slain the Captain and suffered her broken leg, the plan had been different; but now all that mattered was getting her out of danger. So far, all those who had killed Azula's Captains or Generals had found themselves swiftly and inexplicably hacked into several large pieces.

"Longshot - about you're brother, about Jet -"

Vica was caught off by the hands at his collar, by the iron grip that brought him uncomfortably close to two infuriated, shivering eyes.

"You will _never,_" Longshot's black eyes were hollow as the Void. "You will never say that name to me."

And the archer jumped into the boat, pushing it lightly off shore. He took the tear-streaked Smellerbee back in his arms as Haru jumped in, and Hue began to bend.

_**Break**_

Zuko would have carried Katara, but the situation did not merit it; so instead he made certain she kept up beside him, despite the bloody gash in her shoulder, the crimson-and-blue sari pressed to torn flesh.

He left a trail of fire behind them, to delay the earthbenders and set a smokescreen between them and the archers. It seemed to work, at least til the Inner Gate, when everyone realized the smokescreen had actually become a perfectly suitable trial for Long Feng's men to follow. Already the earth was shaking as soldiers pounded their way through the darkness, the sun fully set in the West, the gloom of night overcoming the golden tresses of the palace.

They were lucky that it was dark, which may possibly confuse their pursuers - but no one was overly concerned with thinking about luck at the moment. Toph had to practically set off an explosion to get back out through the Inner Gate, and Aang gaped as he saw the raw power of her ending - the wall shrinking inwards and then bursting out into a thousand flying shards beneath the dust, directed only by Toph's will, so that despite the chaos of the moment not a single one of them received a scratch. The soldiers on the walls screamed for aid, but Sokka's blade and Zuko's flame silenced them; as they poured out into the crowded filth of Masabi, Toph closed up the massive gap behind them, another detainment for their pursuers. They would smash through as she had done, of couse - but even this few second delay was something they needed.

What they were not aware of was the fact that half the palace guard had stayed behind to tend to the Emperor, and his soul-wrenching screams. No one knew what had happened to Long Feng; only that he screamed and screamed, and clutched vainly at the spot where his shoulder once was, the strangely clean hole in his body.

The run through the Masabi streets was terrifying. Even now, in the night, the streets were swarmed - but now there were criminals, nightwalkers, folks of an unruly and untrustworthy sort. Zuko and Sokka and Aang kept a tight perimeter around the girls (though of course they were more than capable of handling themselves, it seemed better not to tempt any men with the sight of such lovely ladies in the streets at night). Twice only (and they were lucky, again, that it was only twice) men tried to pry their way past Sokka to get at the shabbily clad Suki, or the small, vulnerable-looking Toph, or beautiful (if bloody) Katara - and twice they fell back howling, as Sokka's black blade came down hard and merciless across their hands, or chest, or legs, or whatever other part of them he could hack at.

They hopped an earth-train going towards the Outer Wall just as it was leaving station, which would put some distance between them and their pursuers. Jeong-Jeong was waiting for them at the barn where they had stowed Appa at the beginning of this venture; a rotten, run-down sort of place, but the only one big enough to house the bison. The original intent of Hakoda was for them to fly Appa to the docks, as the sky-bison was faster than any beast of the Emperor's. Much to their surprise, then, when they found instead a giant covered cage hitched up to a team of rhinos, and obviously not the fastest of vehicles - with no sky-bison in sight.

Myobu left them immediately to enter the back of the cage, and Toph ran around to follow him for two reasons: one was because the General told her to, and she had never yet disobeyed the General, despite her defiant nature - but mostly because she felt something was very, very wrong, and she needed to find out what.

As soon as they were inside the barn, however, Sokka's immediate concern was for his sister, and not Appa or Toph's sudden disappearance into the back of the rhino-drawn cage. As Zuko helped Katara sit down on a soft mound of straw (the blue sari was soaked through now, and practically stuck to her wound) the Prince sped to her side and fell down next to her, throwing Zuko only the smallest of glances.

"Where is it? Show me."

Zuko peeled back the sari, revealing the long gash in her beautiful flesh. Sokka, who had not expected so bad a wound, swore eloquently under his breathe. Katara's hand was tight on Zuko's robe, but her eyes were fairly clear.

"All I need is some water. It's nothing. I can fix it. I just need water -"

"Prince, get everyone into the cage. Zuko, you will join me at the reins," the General seemed completely unaware of Katara's wounded state, brushing past them all to finish hitching the rhinos to the cage.

"Wait a minute," Sokka was looking around for water, but there was none in sight, save the disgusting kind in the troughs of some ostrich-horses. Instead, he used the remainder of her niqab (no longer concerned with her face showing, though Zuko was having a hard time looked away) to wrap a temporary bandage around the gash.

"Everyone must get in the cage now, Prince," Jeong-Jeong snarled, grabbing Sokka roughly by the collar and throwing him towards Suki. The Prince roared in protest, just as the General came to take Zuko to the reins; the firebender tensed, his arms still around Katara, ready to fight off the General if necessary.

"Katara needs healing now, Jeong-Jeong!" the Prince's words were enough to make Jeong-Jeong stop for a second and consider, turning an idle eye on her bloody shoulder. He had seen far worse wounds in his years of war, in the terror of Acchai; he was little concerned with this injury. It was Aang who intervened, half on his way to follow Toph, still trying to keep up a positive outlook.

"Hell, don' worry none, Sokka. Appa'll get us to 'elp fast'r than any ostrich-'orse could," Aang's words were confident, but Jeong-Jeong's were cold and sharp as ice.

"That bison is in no condition to fly - now get in the cage! I'll bring you to the docks," Jeong-Jeong swept abruptly by the Avatar to hitch up the rhinos. He had no idea how many people would die for his words.

As Aang watched the General pass, the Prince swallowed his rage, remembered the legions of soldier following them, the deadly aim of the YuYan archers. Remembered that the General had never been wrong, not in all his years of knowing him. He resigned himself to obedience unwillingly.

"Come on, Suki," Sokka took the Kyoshi-Shaman's hand, though she looked just as unsure and worried as he, and nodded at once towards Zuko. "Get Katara in, Zuko -"

"Wha' you mean?" Aang's voice went abruptly sharp, though the General seemed not to notice, nor even dignify the airbender with a response. Zuko picked Katara up in his arms and followed Zuko and Sokka towards the back of the cage, likewise unaware of the impending doom settling around the airbender's shoulders. Impatient and fearing the meaning of Jeong-Jeong's words, Aang had sped to the General's side and spun the barbaric man to face him.

"What'a you mean? Wha's 'rong with my bison?"

"He is in no condition to fly," the General was unconcerned with the beast, and in blind panic Aang sped around the side of the cage and stumbled into the back, where all the others had disappeared to. The General himself had greater responsibilities to his Lord Hakoda, and none of them very much involved the safety of a lone bison. So long as the Chief's children, the heir of Agni and the Avatar were in tact when he arrived at the docks, everything else was of little consequence. It would be the General's only mistake in judgment since his young, foolish years; to underestimate the power of Aang, the wrath and love of the Avatar.

Aang was afraid, for he knew not why. As Toph had sensed the doom upon entering the barn, so he sensed it now - and when he rounded the carriage to peer into the back, eyes adjusting in the dim light, his heart went abruptly heavy.

Toph was holding Momo, who was curled up like a wounded cat in her arms, eyes crusted, frame thin and sickly-looking. His fur was matted and mangled, and he clutched weakly to Toph's green sari, shaking gently with what must have been malnutrition. It was obvious the lemur had endured some form of abuse, bruises visible between ripped patched of fur, and even Toph - who could not even see the mangled state of the lemur - was holding the small creature to her chest, eyes rimmed and moist.

But the sight of Appa broke Aang's heart.

Two of his six legs were broken. The bison clutched them into his body defensively, weakly. His brilliant white fur was mud-caked and matted with crusted blood and filth and food; his chest heaved horribly when he breathed, and he breathed slow, strained breaths, his nose crusted and uncleaned. There were gashes, of all different depths and ages, lining the majority of his body, all untended and bearing the design of whips and razors. The bison's face was a mess of varying cutes and bruises, hair torn out in some places, a long crack going through one beautiful horn. His left eye was swollen shut, and there was a massive tear in its long, flat tail. You could hardly see the arrow on its head anymore, obstructed with the various wounds upon its head. Myobu was licking at the creature's wounds in a comforting way, but the bison was still and silent, unresponsive to the spirit-beast's efforts.

"He'll be ok, Aang," Toph could feel the airbender's presence like a cold rain. "Katara can heal them. They'll be ok..."

Aang didn't reply to her. She knew he left by the sound of his retreating footsteps, unable to feel anything through the bottom of the wooden cage.

"You know... for a man of Acchai, you really didn't know what you were doing."

Sokka had been inspecting Appa when Suki spoke. Suki had only briefly seen the bison, as they fled the Library; but it still made her weak to see a creature in such condition, though the Prince assured her the wounds were mostly superficial. So she waited on the side, as Sokka instructed her, until speaking these words.

It took Sokka a minute to realize what she was talking about; and then, swiftly, embarrassingly, his face flushed red.

"Well... neither did you," he stuttered.

"That's because I've never _done it_ before."

"Well - neither have I!"

"You told me you weren't a virgin!"

"I'm not...I mean - I've never..." his voice went even lower, and Suki saw the blush creep into his cheeks. Sokka _really _did not want to talk about this. "...I've never made love to a woman. Even in the houses of the Red Dress... they never consent to that. They never... well - it's strict business there."

"Is that the sort of thing you like?" Suki was teasing him; she knew it was lucky that Sokka was so unsure. Not many men of Acchai had been capable of keeping his level of purity - hell, half of them were half-crippled from some whore-disease by the time they were his age.

"I only went once!" Sokka defended himself poorly. "And that was an accident! I never _went_ back, I didn't like it - I liked - I like _you_."

Suki laughed lowly, but the sound was distant and hollow in the ears of Aang, who had found his way to the other side of the barn. The owner was standing there, chewing opium and chatting in a vulgar sort of language with some other hired hands, when the Avatar approached them. Seeing an airbender drew the same reaction out of most people; they spat at his feet before addressing him, and when they did consent to address him, it usually went something like this:

"What do you want, shit-kid?"

"You th' one who took care o' tha' bison?" Aang's voice was hollow. Only one of the men noticed it, was wise enough to feel uncertain.

"You mean that stupid beast in the cage?" the man was obviously slow or unlearned, unable to catch the glint of doom in the Avatar's eye. "If you say so. Damn thing would a fuckin' run me out a business, all the damn hay it eats. Yeah. He was my job."

"Ton a' useless shit's what that thing is," said a man beside the owner, and the men laughed and nodded in agreement. Aang's eyes closed tight as he slowly, methodically clenched his fingers into fists.

"An' the lemur?" he whispered it. The reply came like a blow.

"The flyin' beast?" the owner was digging his own grave. "He was a little more fun. Put him in some cockfights. Won me a few bucks."

"Lost to that last one though, real bad," grinned is yellow-toothed friend. They chuckled, then outright laughed amongst themselves.

The crystal sting of tears sliding down an innocent face.

"...Done fo'."

"What you say?" the owner stopped chewing his opium long enough to look straight at the airbender.

Aang could still see Appa's broken frame in the darkness under his eyelids.

"_You done fo_'."

And an unearthly white light bled into his eyes, swift and fatal as poison.

"Just lay here next to Appa," Jeong-Jeong needed Zuko at the reins, and now that Katara was safe near her brother, the firebender felt it was safe to leave her side. As Katara leaned back into Appa's white fur, he went to released her; but then her soft hand was on his arm, begging him to stay beside her, to keep his hands on her waist. Still more beautiful than any woman could compare, despite how sickly pale she was, the bloody sari and the awkward niqab wrapped around her shoulder. Her long, dark hair was free and splayed around her face, as though she was some wild thing, rogue goddess.

"I don't want you to leave me," she whispered it, maybe so Sokka wouldn't hear. Zuko stared straight into her startling blue eyes, misted gently with pain and fatigue.

Then an explosion tore the side of the barn in half, sent Zuko flying against the wall of the cage. Appa raised his head weakly and gave a loud, despairing moan.


	33. Torn Away

"Stay here! Look after Katara and Appa!"

No one could tell if Sokka was talking to Suki or Toph; both women obeyed him, however, for the sake of their wounded friends. Not even daring to hesitate, Sokka took a winded Zuko by the arm and half-dragged him outside the cage again, despite the fearful eyes of Katara. Toph draped her arms protectively around her sister as Suki crept to Appa's side and laid her head gently, unsurely, in the bison's matted white fur.

Zuko was still gasping for breath as he tumbled out of the cage, dazed by the impact of hitting the wooden wall. His shaking vision barely cleared before he ran full-on into Sokka, who had stopped dead in his tracks. Sokka practically close-lined the oblivious firebender, and Zuko went down beneath a curse, landing hard on his ass.

"You fucker -"

But he stopped when he saw the fear wash over Sokka's face, skin gone as pale as his sister's. The Prince closed his eyes suddenly, turned away, and threw up.

Zuko followed where Sokka's frightened gaze had gone, realized there was a horrible, potent smell in the air, like the stench of a gutted deer; and then he stopped breathing.

"_God_ -"

Zuko's boots slipped along the bloody floor as he struggled to pull himself to his feet, unaware that his hands were getting covered in blood as he did so, wanting only to get away from the sight before him. His stomach turned inside out as the gore-sickness consumed him; bile and vomit rose into his mouth.

Half the barn and most of the hay was on fire. The left side of the building was completely gone, smashed open as though a flaming tank had plowed through it; people in the street were screaming and running from the still flaming debris raining down from above, despite the density of the crowds. Wind was whipping through the air like a thousand stinging needles, as though a hurricane was starting.

And in scattered puddles and pieces on the ground, lay four or five workers of the stables, burned and broken and dismembered. Twisted frames like statues, guarding the gates of hell.

The ground was soaked in blood. Zuko had never even realized before how much blood was in a body; and now that he could see it, flooding the floor, pumping like fountains from weak, half-visible, slowly dying hearts, he never wanted to see it again. Most of the men had been ripped open from their chest, and their insides were splayed around them like a horrific jigsaw puzzle; body parts were still twitching feebly in those remaining somewhat intact, but this was few. Zuko couldn't breathe for the horror of it all; severed limbs with joints still attached, bones piercing skin, entrails and hunks of flesh and crushed skulls and a ribcage, split like a wishbone. Scarring and third-degree burns had left some of them mere slabs of smoking flesh, white pus against black, broken skin, bugs already scampering to the carnage. One man had his jaw torn out to leave a hideous, deformed smile in his broken face, toothless and twisted and grinning death.

Zuko and Sokka were both on their knees, emptying their stomachs. How even Jeong-Jeong managed to withstand the unspeakable scene before him was only testament to the man's strength of will, though later on he too would vomit from the memory - alone by the sea, where his weakness was hidden.

Toph heard Zuko and her brother's startled cries, and the sounds of them throwing up. Hesitantly, she came to the back of the cage, about to put her foot upon the red ground.

"Sokka -?"

"No! Toph, stay in the cage!" it was the tone of his voice that made Toph obey; weak with terror, with disgust. She retreated hesitantly into the cage, Suki staring at her questioningly.

"Myobu! Go after him!" there was no hesitation in Jeong-Jeong's voice; Myobu was the fastest. Myobu could stop Aang long before they could. And Aang had to be stopped.

The slow, syrupy movement of blood, sliding between the stones on the cobbled barn floor.

_I cannot attack the Avatar. _

"Fuck that! Go after him!" Sokka was wiping his mouth, with absolutely no patience for the spirit-beast's cryptic words. Zuko was dizzy with disbelief, wiping blood off his hands with the front of his robes and darkening the fabric. Jeong-Jeong took a step forward, as though to break into a run and pursue where the Avatar had gone; Myobu stopped him with a growl, like the beginnings of thunder.

_General, there is a demon malice in the Avatar's heart. We must take the women to the docks. You two, _and he looked straight at a sick Sokka and Zuko. _You__ will try to appease him._

To everyone's surprise, Jeong-Jeong stopped, looking the spirit-Fox straight in the eye as he did so. Myobu did not stir, but kept his fearsome glowing eyes on the swiftly disappearing Avatar. The General hesitated, then turned to obey the Fox, leaping in behind the rhinos and taking the rein with a swift crack.

As soon as the cage started moving, Toph and Suki bolted upright, and even Katara made a staggering move towards the exit. Appa groaned again, but seemed to ignore the bumping motion of the cage. Mybou jumped suddenly into the back, and startled by the spirit-Fox, the girls started to move towards the exit.

"Don't look! Stay with Jeong-Jeong!" Zuko had to shout it, as Sokka was so sick he could hardly stand, legs shaking beneath him. Jeong-Jeong, impatient with the rhinos, flashed fire across there flanks and the cage took off like a sudden shot into the night, bearing the bewildered women away.

"Where the hell's he going?" Sokka breathed, bent over, hands on his knees. Zuko knew he meant Aang, and in some weird, horrified attempt to understand the airbender's homicidal actions, he forced himself to look back at the bloody room.

"...How many people were in this room, Sokka?"

"What... besides us?" Sokka glanced around at the carnage again, but tore his eyes away swiftly before he threw up again. "I... I don't know. Five? Yeah, five."

Zuko covered his mouth and glared at the gruesome spectacle before them. He tried to count heads, not matter how crushed and unrecognizable they were - it was probably the only way he could have guessed at the number of the bodies.

"Its' only four," he finally relented. stowing away the memory of that sight deep into his mind. "He went after the last guy - come on."

He practically had to pull Sokka to his feet, though afterwards the Prince stoutly forced him off and exclaimed he was perfectly fine. Having to tip-toe their way across the blood and mutilated bodies, however - that was another matter entirely. Sokka went first, hand across his mouth just as Zuko's, boots slipping slightly on the red-stained floor, stopping halfway to bend over and throw up again. Then, of course, there was the sight of vomit mingled with flesh and guts, and both of them lost their stomachs before making the entrance.

"How do you think we'll find him?" Sokka must have said it to try and relieve the tension of the blood-bath behind them, as it ended up being a rather rhetorical question; the trail of ruin and fire stretched before them, staining the streets in a fierce orange glow, a path towards the possessed Avatar. That, and just as Sokka said it, a building exploded into a towering gust of flame and ash not two blocks away. Embers were still falling down against the black canvas of sky as Zuko grabbed Sokka again and pulled him towards the disaster.

"I don't think it'll be all that hard -"

The crowds were running in droves, screaming, falling, abandoning friends and family in an effort to escape Aang's demonic presence. Sokka and Zuko were caught in the midst of them, frustratingly, people pushing and shoving and barreling headlong into the two, fearful and panicked. Smoke and ash choked the air, and everyone was coughing and tripping and scrabbling over one another, a confused mass of whirling limbs and bodies. Then it became a thick bottleneck of terrified citizens in the alley, Zuko and Sokka crushed between flailing citizens, people falling and trampled to death beneath a hundred running feet, curses lost beneath the dim of screams and distant explosions.

Then, abruptly, they were free; the mass of running people was thinned and gone, and only a few slow wounded remained; a man hobbling on a broken leg, a lost child wandering aimlessly. But the freedom to move brought no comfort; before Sokka and Zuko was a small square, originally designed with a beautiful fountain in the middle, surrounded by burning lanterns. Most of the lanterns were destroyed at this point; only one or two still managed to stay lit, but these flickered feebly beneath the dripping red flame set by the Avatar.

The square had become a holocaust in a matter of seconds. The fountain was torn out and water was pumping awkwardly into the streets amidst the wreckage; wind tore through the air like a thousand arrows, like a miniature hurricane, sending debris flying into the next districts of Masabi. Fire was licking walls and rooftops, dancing as the wind taunted and whipped it; flame licking flesh from the lifeless bodies of men and women who'd stepped in the Avatar's way. Smoking carcasses of innocents caught running in terror, twisted in cages of metal and wood, white teeth blinding against their black, charred skin.

"Please -" the barn-owner was cowering before the all-consuming wrath of the Avatar, the hollow, demonic glow in his eyes. Aang had frozen him to the earth, making escape that much more impossible; flame was licking the Avatar's fist, ready to scorch and mutilate him as he had done to his fellows. Sokka did not hesitate, drew his blade and ran straight towards the airbender.

"Let him go -!"

Sokka's blade was above his head, and though Zuko wanted to cry out for him to stop, they both knew what had to be done. Aang had slain upwards of twenty people in the space of two minutes; he had to be stopped, in any way. The black blade came down, stained red in the firelight.

Aang stepped aside from Sokka's blow with such grace he seemed more ghost than man. Then he caught the Prince around his pale throat and Sokka's breathe caught with an unflattering gasp. The power in the Avatar's grip was a hundred times more than the Prince had expected - immediately his head swam, and his limbs felt weak, and he was only vaguely aware of Aang's piercing, glowing white eyes on him.

Zuko was behind Aang then, fists full of fire, eyes full of self-hatred and regret. He knew it wasn't Aang - not this beast, not this monster who had stormed Masabi's streets. But whatever it was, it had to be silenced.

Aang seemed to think differently. An inch before Zuko's flaming fist made contact with the airbender, a whip of wind caught the firebender full in his chest, and sent him flying back into a wall of burning debris and twisted metal. The air sped from his lungs so quickly and painfully that Zuko could not even scream when the rusted, red beam tore through the back of his leg.

"Aang -"

But Sokka couldn't say the Avatar's name. It came out as a choked cough, as the firebender scrabbled desperately at Aang's iron grip, closing methodically around his throat.

Aang's face was emotionless, save for the flitter of ungodly fury that passed across it like a shadow, hidden only by the empty, blinding white light in his eyes. Rock and stone rose to the airbender's palm, attached to his pale skin, to his glowing arrow tattoo. He raised the stone glove slowly to the Prince's chest. It cracked, changed, formed a dagger-like shape that cut through Sokka's robes and began to drill into his flesh.

"Aang stop! It's Sokka! It's fuckin' Sokka, Aang!" Zuko limped up, still bearing his sword, hobbling towards the pair. His efforts were futile against the furious winds that encircled Aang, Sokka's hair loose and whipping wildly at his face as his tried to kick, struggle, punch, do anything to avoid the slab of stone sliding slowly into his chest. He felt the first drops of blood slide down his skin, felt the strength leaving him. Blue eyes rolling upwards into his head.

Zuko's cries mute against the wind and roar of flame.

And then Aang woke up.

No one ever figured out what had caused him to release the Avatar State, as he would never talk about, and no one else had the heart to look into it. It may have been the cunning snarls of Myobu, the spiritual persuasion and threat; it may have been the panicking shouts of Zuko, still struggling through the wind towards them. It may have been the feeling of Sokka's blood on his hands, or the empty, dying look in the Prince's eyes.

But by some unknown grace the light in Aang's eyes shuddered and died. His hands loosened and Sokka gasped, falling hard to the ground.

All around them was smoke and ash and dead bodies. Aang blinked, caught the potent smell of burning flesh on the wind, flinched. The sights came to him slowly, but the realization came fast.

Gently, mockingly, his knees buckled beneath him and he fell hard to the jagged ground, unable even to cry.

Zuko did the only thing he could think of. He crawled over to Aang's side and wrapped his arms around the airbender, just as Lu Ten had done once for him, all those ages ago. Aang made no response; only stared, mute and dry-eyed, at the smoke and carnage before him.

Then he threw back his head and screamed.

**_Break_**

At the sea-side, a number of cargo crates was piled high beside a modest looking ship dubbed Kuruk, according to the dim, faded letters along it's side. The boat was a small merchant-vessel, run by a nomadic family of the South. The leader was named Chong, and though he spent more time strumming his lute than calculating the direction of the ship, he always seemed to end up where he needed to be. His wife, Lily, probably had a lot to do with that, as her father had originally owned the ship and she grew up on the sea - but as Chong was such a good husband, his lack of attention went unnoticed sometimes, as did Lily's casual nudge of the ship's wheel. Positioned alongside the wooden dock, the Kuruk looked an uncertain sort of vessel, tainted slightly with mold and disrepair, but this only meant the ship would go all the more unnoticed as it passed the East coast.

Jeong-Jeong, Hakoda and Zuko would be part of a Silk Road caravan leaving that evening, and some of the goat-mules and carts were still at the docks being loaded. People were wandering around the docks frantically, pointing at the smoke and fire in the distance, knocking over one another in an effort to find out from anyone, from everyone, what horrible tragedy had just taken place in Masabi.

When the three men arrived a the docks, Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong had only to take one look at Aang to know what he had done. His clothes were torn and messed with blood and soot, everything dark and dirty against the pale, sick disbelief in his face, the blinding blue of his tattoos. His gray eyes were hollow and despairing, feet dragging like the weighed bricks. He was so bent and miserable-looking that the other men had trouble understanding how could even stand, let alone walk all this way to the docks. Fires were still burning, scattered torches, in random districts of Masabi; whether or not the people of the East knew it was the Avatar who had caused such grief, they all knew Long Feng would spread this truth soon enough.

At the sea-side, a number of cargo crates was piled high beside a modest looking ship dubbed _Kuruk_, according to the dim, faded letters along it's side_. _The boat was a small merchant-vessel, run by a nomadic family of the South. The leader was named Chong, and though he spent more time strumming his lute than calculating the direction of the ship, he always seemed to end up where he needed to be. His wife, Lily, probably had a lot to do with that, as her father had originally owned the ship and she grew up on the sea - but as Chong was such a good husband, his lack of attention went unnoticed sometimes, as did Lily's casual nudge of the ship's wheel. Positioned alongside the wooden dock, the _Kuruk_ looked an uncertain sort of vessel, tainted slightly with mold and disrepair, but this only meant the ship would go all the more unnoticed as it passed the East coast.

Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong, however, were not at all patient with this turn of events. Jeong-Jeong looked a notch fiercer, eyes burning bright beneath his scattered gray hair, the two dangerous scar. Hakoda, looking a little less disheveled in his blue Aurora tribe armor and fur cloak, dreadlocks pulled back from his fury-lined face, was no less intimidating. His deadly blue eyes, a match to his son's, were fixed piercingly on the Avatar. In fact, the Chief looked so much like a man of Acchai in that moment he rivaled even Jeong-Jeong, who embodied the power and wrath of the barbarians.

"We should've been packed and left a half hour ago," Hakoda said it with only the faintest hint of threat and anger, but even this made Zuko's insides boil. "Now the tide may be too high, and you could all drown when the ships smashes into the rocks at the High Channel. In what demon's name did you think -"

"_Leave him alone_."

Zuko snarled it, stepped between the wrathful Hakoda and the gloomy Aang. The Chief licked his teeth, straightened, stared daggers into the firebender's piercing gold eyes. Zuko didn't move. He knew Aang didn't deserve this - not now. And no matter what Hakoda did to him he was sticking to this truth. The Cheif loked at him like he was a word away from drawing his club-sword and sentencing him to death.

Zuko thought abruptly, inexplicably, of the Rope Walk. That was when Aang interrupted, and Zuko was surprised to feel the airbender's steady hand on his shoulder.

"Is fine, you know," Aang's empty gray eyes were still fixed on the Chief, despite Zuko's intervention. "Wha' was you sayin', Sa'?"

Hakoda glanced between the two of them - fierce, gold eyes and depressed, gray ones - and decided this fight was better left untouched.

"You're going to the Northern Aurora Tribe," he relented, turning towards on of the goat-mules of the caravan. "There's some men there who can teach you to _control _your power - a Master Waterbender named Pakku, and a spiritual man, Guru Pathik. They can train you and prepare you, while we work to unite Acchai and raise you an army."

"... Grea' time," Aang muttered, and luckily for the Avatar, Toph, Suki and Katara arrived from the ship at that moment. Toph was at his side first, which merited a weak, sorrowful sort of smile from Aang; he was taking heavy steps that Toph noticed right away, as soon as her foot left the wooden dock. Suki's eyes were on Sokka, but he wasn't looking at her. The Prince was searching, craving for a look, a word from his father, standing not five feet away. So far the Chief had not even acknowledged his son's existence.

"Aang...?" Toph breathed, and her fingers touched his arm.

"Later, eh?" Aang said quickly, and before Toph could reply he'd taken her hand in his, squeezed it longingly, and let go. It left her in a state of confused euphoria.

"Chief..." Sokka's words were strained. he could not bring himself to say 'father'.

"The crates on the dock need to be loaded - do it quickly," Hakoda said it briskly, looked at Aang, then Zuko; but his eyes passed over Sokka in a distant, unseeing way, before he returned to packing the goat-mule. Like he hadn't even seen him.

Sokka's insides writhed, churned with torment. Zuko, Aang, Suki and the sisters made there way to the dock, to do as Hakoda had commanded; but the Prince remained rooted to his spot, despite the glowering eyes of Jeong-Jeong. Suki looked back hesitantly her he shoulder, but Katara pulled her along. Katara had already had a brief reunion with her father; once through is gift of the necklace, and in a tear-filled hug when they made it to the docks. Concern for the three men left behind, however, had made it a rather bitter reunion.

"The Chief gave you an order," the General said it lowly, but even then Sokka knew that Jeong-Jeong understood his lack of action; an entire life of torment, of lies, of a missing father. Jeong-Jeong may have been a capable leader, and handy in tense situations - but he was no father figure, far too rough and callous for that sort of position in life. Far too swiftly brutal.

"I thought you were dead," Sokka's words came out as a breathe.

"Sokka, please do as I say. Get the crates in the boat. They'll need you to help cast off soon, as well," Hakoda slung a satchel over his shoulder, patted the neck of the goat-mule distractedly, back to his glaring, infuriated son.

"...Why didn't you come for us?" the Prince's voice was a whisper. "Where have you_ been_?"

"Sokka - it's not important now. Go to the boats!"

Hakoda snarled, handed off the satchel to Jeong-Jeong. Back towards his son.

"No. Not until you answer my question."

"We don't have time for this game of yours!"

Back towards his son.

"Then _answer the question_."

"Sokka, you insolent -"

"_Why won't you look at me_?"

Sokka glared, wide-eyed and desperate, at the back of his father's head. For the first time since childhood, in years, there were tears in his eyes.

Hakoda straightened up slowly, back still towards Sokka. No one saw his face at that moment; aged a hundred years with regret, with pain, with self-hatred. Shadows like dark pits beneath his eyes, age-lines creased deep with sorrow. The embodiment of despair could not have looked worse in that moment; Hakoda knew his own mistakes, and they were reflected forever in the eyes of his abused son, his veiled daughter. He turned towards the Prince, knowing he could never hope to redeem himself.

"Because you're right," he said it on the same level as Sokka, the same whisper. "...I should have been there for you. You and Katara."

"Then why _weren't _you?" Sokka begged the question, eyes shining. "Do you even know - about Fong, about -"

"I know it all, Sokka," Hakoda relented unwillingly, and again his eyes fell away from the Prince, though Sokka' heart craved his father's gaze. "I know about when you were seven, and first sent under Jeong-Jeong's service. I know that you were there, when your mother died. I know... that the scar on your leg wasn't an accident."

Sokka flinched at that memories. A small boy trying to mount an ostrich-horse, surrounded by monstrous Acchain men; his mother's long, beautiful hair, flying wildly about her face as she reached out to him, attempting to run; Fong throwing a jagged piece of glass towards him, when he'd accidently knocked over a family mirror.

"I'm so proud to be your father," it was like Sokka was listening in on a dream. "But I am so ashamed of myself. I could have saved you and Katara... and your mother. But I didn't think it was my place. I thought I was being smart. I thought I was protecting you. But in the end..."

He stopped, swallowed, shook his head like chasing away a bad memory. Before even a single tear could escape from Sokka's pleading eyes, the Chief had stepped forward and embraced the Prince.

Jeong-Jeong lowered his gaze respectfully. Sokka stared, mute, unable to move. His father broke the hug before his son could react - and then there was a ring of blade, sudden and unexpected beneath the lasting silence of the moment.

"I want you to have this."

Sokka took it from his father, slowly. It was black-metaled knife, to match his black sword - but this was not the most fantastic thing about it. It's hilt was blinding white, carven from what Sokka knew, was raw tiger-walrus tusk; it shone beneath the distant flicker of stars and red fire, carved elegantly into the shape of a howling wolf, mourning forever towards the cold moon. The Ancient Wolf, the symbol of the Chieftain of the Aurora Tribe - the hilt to Hakoda's club-sword was crafted in the same shape.

"I need you to look after your sister. You have to be a stronger man than I was, Sokka."

**_Break_**

"How's you're shoulder?"

Katara turned, seemed a little caught off guard by how close he was to her. Then again, they were cramped in the cargo hold of the small ship, loading the last few crates before departure, and everything was close and stuffy and stale. Aang, Suki and Toph had already ventured back on deck, to await Hakoda signal to shove off. Captain Chong had finally bordered the vessel with his wife Lily, and he was already annoying Sokka to insanity with his incessant melodies and relaxed philosophy.

"Its... oh, its fine," she stuttered vaguely, and to confirm it she turned her barren shoulder towards him, face still uncovered, niqab all torn off, hair like liquid shadow. "I healed it with the sea-water..."

She stopped when Zuko's finger brushed the dark, caramel-colored skin where the wound had once been. Instantly they were back on the balcony at the palace of Masabi, vaguely aware of how dangerously close they were, how open to the other. Katara's smooth, crimson lips parted slightly as she looked up at him, an inch from his chin, and whispered:

"Jeong-Jeong says you're not coming," there was slight fear in her voice. It made Zuko's blood rush in a conflicting way. Coupled desire and guilt.

"I'm coming," something in the way he said it, made it mean more - _I'll stay with you_. A flicker of a smile crept across Katara's lips.

"Time to go, Zuko,"Jeong-Jeong shouted it bluntly into the cargo hold, then disappeared back on deck. Zuko opened his mouth weakly, then looked back towards Katara. One sight of her glorious, endless blue eyes was enough to start the fire in his heart, make him run up after the General.

"No - I'm going on the boat," he shouted after Jeong-Jeong, mounting the steps onto the deck. Jeong-Jeong was halfway on the docks when he heard Zuko's exclamation, and he stopped only to glare, intensely, at the firebender. The General looked ferocious in the dim night, huge mole-bear cloak framing him like some wild spirit.

"No. You're going with the caravan on the Silk Road," it was a statement, in a tone of voice that demanded obedience. And those who disobeyed the General did not live for very long. Zuko knew this, but he also knew that a certain beautiful waterbender had a steadily increasing desire for him to accompany her, and this weighed more heavily on him.

"No. I'm not," it was so simply put that Jeong-Jeong flinched. He stepped back on the boat with a solid, dangerous boot.

"I don't have time for games," and Jeong-Jeong really did look rather more impatient than usual. Zuko tensed, let a single tongue of flame lick his fingers, and then -

"Stop. Lemme talk to 'im."

Aang had not even stood up from his place beside Toph, but he was looking the General straight in his dark, deadly eyes. Jeong-Jeong seemed indecisive fore a moment; and then, with a backwards, irritated snarl in Zuko's direction, he left the boat to aid Hakoda with the caravan.

"Aang... what are you doing?" Zuko stared incredulously at the Avatar, but said nothing else. He knew it was still walking on eggshells, talking with him after such an ordeal, Aang, however, stood slowly, Toph's hand still on his arm as he did so, as though to lend him her strength. Aang raised his gray eyes to meet Zuko's defiant ones as Katara came on deck, loking quizzically between the two.

"I kill'd people today, Zuko," Aang started. "People who didn' des'rve to die. I almos' kill'd you an' Sokka, too."

Silence fell over the scene. A scared look passed over Toph's face, but she only squeezed Aang's arm reassuringly.

"Aang, its..." but there was nothing Zuko could say. Aang was right. The truth of it was reflected in the despairing, self-loathing storm-clouds of his eyes.

"Don' try an say nothin'," Aang waved it away weakly. "Is alrigh'. You an' Sokka stopp'd me, see. But I can't go an' rely on tha'. Is dangerous, this thing inside me. S'like some sorta'...sorta demon, or somethin'."

Zuko swallowed, wished Sokka was there - though the Prince was currently involved in mapping discussion with Suki and Chong in the Captain's quarters, and probably would have been no help anyway.

"Wha' it comes down to is all this, Zuko. Hakoda's righ', 'e's spot on. I gotta learn ta' control me'self. These men 'e's talkin' 'bout - Pathik, an' Pakku - they could teach me somethin', see. Hell, seems the 'ole world could teach me somethin's 'bout me. An' I gotta' do it. I've done gone run from wha' I am me 'ole life. An' it got me nowhere. Got me motha' kill'd. Got them men kill'd. Hell, 'ere I am the spirit a peace an' all I am is killin' people."

A ironic smile almost graced Aang's features. Almost.

"I don' wanna be no Avatar. But I am, an' I gotta accept it. I gotta go to this 'ere Aurora Tribe. But you - is different fo' you, Zuko. You gotta somethin' else needs doin'."

Zuko felt his heart sink at the Avatar's words. He didn't _want_ this.

"I... I'm not good enough for it, Aang," to Zuko's surprise, the Avatar simply shrugged.

"Don' matter. I don' feel like I got stuffs to be th' Avatar, but 'ere I am," and Aang smiled weakly at the comparison between them. "It's jus' wha's gotta be done. Can't fight the Emper'r one our own. We need 'elp. And I've sure as all hell got faith tha' if anyone can get these damn crazy Acchains to turn and fight on our side, is gotta be you."

"No - I just... _can't do it_," Zuko said it a little louder, and Aang swallowed impatiently. But Zuko was pleading, begging for him to understand. How could he not understand? He couldn't handle the life of Acchai, much less take it into his hands and _rule_ it! And he needed to stay with him, his only friend from home - he needed to stay with Katara, the woman he couldn't get out of his mind...

"... Yes you can."

It was Katara who spoke. Zuko turned and stared at her like she was ghost, appeared out of thin air.

"What?" he breathed. The bewilderment in his eyes surpassed anything he'd ever experienced before. Aang took the opportunity to

"See, Zuko?" But Zuko was still staring, disbelievingly, at Katara's shy form. "You gotta, 'cause no one else will, see..."

Aang took Zuko by the hand, and Zuko looked at the Avatar distractedly. Aang was tired and full of despair, and needed to lie down; so he took the firebender's hand regretfully, but hopefully too. There was still light in the Avatar's eyes, despite the crushing darkness. It made Zuko feel even more wildly unworthy.

"I'll be seein' you 'round, Agni."

The sound of the nickname made Zuko wonder how long he'd been away from home when he'd ever get back to see his friends, his Uncle, his mother. And realized that even if he got home, his mother wouldn't be there anymore.

"Good luck, Zuko," Toph added quietly. The two of them retreated below deck, Aang leaning a little on Toph, who had her head in his shoulder.

Then there was only Katara, only darkness and the ship-lanterns and the distant click of a goat-mule hoof. Zuko looked at her like it was the last time he'd ever gaze upon beauty, upon the blue-eyed face of perfection. He almost didn't even notice when she slid her hand into his, an act of comfort, of veiled desire. Almost didn't notice the longing in her sparkling eyes.

"You said you didn't want me to leave you," he reminded her; asked her, without words, if she was lying.

"...I don't," and his heart beat loudly at these words, and he clenched her hand as she continued. "But this is more important than me. Than... than what I want."

A tear slid down her cheek, painful, unfair. And then, for the first time in weeks, Zuko thought of Mai. How every single move and action she took was to her own benefit, her own pleasure, her own will. How every kind word from her had been false concern - for Mai's only concern was her own delight, and his adoration for her was pleasing enough. She did not understand, she did not care, she did not love him.

Yet here stood Katara, sacrificing her own desire for what she knew to be true. Believing in their salvation. Believing in him.

Zuko didn't even know what to say. Every inch of him wanted to run, wanted to be with her, wanted to just escape this hectic life he'd had since taking the train from _Balda Haram_. He wanted to sit down at the bar with Jet and drink. He wanted to play Pai Sho with his Uncle. He wanted to gather Katara in his arms and say, _Where have you been all this time? Why did I not realize I loved you from the first moment I saw you?_

But Zuko didn't know what to say. He tightened his grip on her hand a little, felt her warm arm and the faith in her startlingly blue eyes.

"You...you stick close to your brother, then, alright? And stick close to Aang..."

Zuko's voice broke as she stepped in closer to him. He almost lost it.

Her lips were soft on his, the most chaste sort of kiss. And suddenly everything melted away, and there was no boat, no caravan, no great destiny to fulfill. There was only her.

Zuko took a moment to realize her intent; then he kissed her, deeply, explored the feeling her, the sweet and salty taste. Katara wrapped her arms around him and they held each other in the dim light, slowly remembering the details of the other, Zuko's hot breathe, her gentle crimson lips. So lost in the ecstasy of the moment, they couldn't even realize how sad it all was.

Zuko was standing on the dock when the boat pulled away. His dress robes were torn and bloody, his black hair blowing across his face like a whisper of hope, of things to come. Katara was sitting at the stern of the ship, blue eyes gazing out distantly, longingly, from between the wooden bars. The sparkling surface of some misted sea.

Like a soul being torn apart. Like a piece gone missing.

"Time to leave, Zuko."

Jeong-Jeong came for him when the boat was out of sight. Zuko replayed the kiss in his mind, passion and regret, the taste of her still clinging to his lips.

Slowly, he closed his fingers around the brilliant, blue-gemstone necklace she'd left in his palm. Carven waves crashing on a nonexistent shore.

And all but unnoticed in the corner, the small outline of a rose.

**The End**

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The story will continue in:

**The Crimson Dragon**


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